The Longest Friday

Yeah, yeah,..I know, I’ve heard all the jokes.. after all the  half hearted attempts at leaving and the endless excuses for staying in Oz…I should’ve just applied for Australian citizenship by now,. found myself a nice Jillaroo and settled forever in Oz ….I have been here a long time,..and with a cell phone,..a bit of work and nice piece of waterfront property, I’ve become virtually domesticated!

Bahahahahaa …not for long!  The bike is OFFICIALLY on some Asian freighter in route to Singapore.  As soon as I get the word that its left Singapore for Pusan S. Korea,.. I’ll be purchasing my Airline tickets.  Like a deranged lover,…where the GS goes,..I am sure to follow.

So I’m getting ahead of myself,….

Staged back in Perth after my second big circuit through Western Australia, I was looking for an excuse to do just one more tour.  You never have to look far in Western Australia for just one more adventure…an adventure you just cant turn down.  Mt Augustus was the perfect culprit,…..internationally renown (world’s largest rock), yet suitably out in the middle of nowhere, reserved for the very few people who actually care about seeing the worlds largest rock…and the even fewer people who are willing to leave the tarmac by several hundred miles.

It also offers a certain level of mystic to me as paraglider pilot..for there appeared to be no records/advice/guides concerning  foot launching a glider off Mt Augustus….why???  why wouldn’t such a gorgeous slab of red rock rising over a 1000ft off the desert floor attract pilots the world around….   I figured I’d go find out for myself…at the least it would make a great dirt ride through the outback,..and at best I’d get to step into the wind and soar the beast.

Packing up at the caravan park in Perth is always a slow process,… the other travelers at the campground seem to know the most inopportune moment to start a three hour conversation detailing the art of trapping crawdads.

Within a few hours I was onto that familiar red outback dirt….of which I’ve come to love…that’s the outback dirt,..not the outback flies(which are not too bad this season).

I pushed my luck as far as I could that night,..until enough near misses with roos scared me off the road.  It was a magnificent night to savor the solitude of the desert.  Everything was dead still, no wind, just the sound of the campfire crackling its way through slow burning mulga wood.

I had checked the weather reports before leaving Perth. The closest weather station was over 100k out from Mt Augustus,..but I took a guess on the geography and felt I had a pretty good idea on what was coming up.  It looked like I had one short window to get a flight in before a high pressure system battered the region with high winds.  I had a day and a half to ride to the mountain, climb the mountain, and find a launch. It was not ideal,…but I figured it might just be a go.

I woke early, packed, fed, andwas on the road just as the sun came up.

It was good,..its always good on dirt.  A recently graded superhighway of gravel and pindam,..allowed for a fast and furious dash through the Murchison gold fields to Mt Augustus.

Mt Augustus is a sight to see.

Perhaps an insignificant mound in comparison to the world’s meanest peaks,..but like most things,..its made relevant by its surroundings.  And Mt Augustus towers above the outback spread with all the majesty of a Himalayan giant.

I loved it!

One of the bordering cattle stations offers a bit of petrol and camping grounds to service those few folks who had made the trip.  While waiting for a key to unlock the fuel pump,..I provided some amusement for the ranch hands by tossing sand in the air to confirm the wind direction.  At ground level there was virtually no wind…an exciting indicator of good flying conditions on the mountain summit. So I fueled up and then raced off again, eager to get on “the rock”.

The North West Face provided the most vertical terrain…rising up out of the desert with massive cliffs.  I figured that there would be good thermal updraft near the cliffs in these low wind conditions,..and the cliffs provide epic terrain to soar.

The challenge at this point was getting up and finding a reasonable launch site.

There is of courses a good trail to the summit located on the far side of the mountain.  I didn’t want to fly this terrain due to its gradual grade and long (although easier) hike up.  I was looking for the quickest route to the summit that would allow me to top out near those cliffs.

I spotted what I thought were breaks in the cliff from several kilometers below and decided to bush bash for it.  I’ve spent a good deal of time flogging myself up all sorts of mountain terrain,…but this was something new.  This was one big pebble!   Yeah,..there were some mean little trees and varios bushes,..but this was solid stuff…almost all of it was steep and hands on.

The top cliff band was the crux.  It would have been an absolute blast with a proper rack, rope, and a belay partner, but with out these luxuries I found myself getting walled out a number of times and having to back off,…not wanting to get in over my head with a glider on my back and no pro set.

Eventually I had to ditch the glider and spend some time climbing around looking for a chimney that didn’t close out.  The annoying part was the crunch for time…every minute I spent wandering around lessened my chance for a flight.  Down climbing at night was not an ideal option.  I was highly motivated to make this flight happen.

I eventually discovered my window through the cliffs…it was full on rock climbing and I had to use linked straps to pull the glider up after me,…but the chimney was easy and safe with a few big choke stones that would block me from going all the way if I slipped down.

As I was topping out over the cliff face, two giant eagles glided effortless by within ten feet.  It was inspiring…I wanted to call out…”wait for me!” I’ll be there in a minute!”  I was desperate to get into the air with these gorgeous creatures.

I regret that the sinking sun left me no time for taking pictures…I was solely focused on getting up as fast as possible. The low visibility also cripled my vid footage, but I’ll see what I can put together over the next week.

I was pretty smoked as I topped out above the cliff band,..but I was feeding off it all..the incredible view,..the eagles,..and the anticipation of flying…and the need to find a launch immediately as the sun seemed to be racing to the desert floor.

This was the new crux,..finding a launch.  I felt like panicking as I realized the prevailing winds were actually coming from the South side of the mountain(not the side I had ascended).

I could not fly off the cliffs and glide back to my motorcycle.  I now had two options,…down climb for 4 hours back to the bike,..or attempt to fly off the South face into the unknown and land where ever(always an interesting option!)

Again, the eagles inspired me,…they were now soaring consistently on the lift coming up the gentle south face.  I knew I would be faced with a massive extraction by foot if I flew off the south face of the mountain. But I had a few things going for me.  I had a map, compass, gps, lighter, headlamp, enough food/water to hike out and overnight if I had to.  It was a go….except I still needed a launch site.

Mt Augustus is not an easy launch.  Especially if you’re forced to fly the South face.  I had less than 20 minutes of daylight to fight through forests of scrub and mini thorn trees to find a 15 meter by 15 meter meadow of spinifex or gravel.  You really need to spend a full day’s reconnaissance/or the knowledge of some one who has, to find a good launch on this big piece of terrain. As I was bush bashing around the top the mountain, I vowed to complete a thorough reconnaissance at some point and post the information so other pilots could do this properly.

Where there’s a will, there’s a way.  Just as the sun set,…I found my launch. It was nasty!

For all intents and purposes I’ll label it as the “mother in law”.  I wasn’t even confidant that it was going to work.  Scrubs,..sharp rocks,..trees…and a super shallow launch made for an incredibly difficult launch.  But there was no time left,..the sun was actually down at this point,…still enough light to see,..but it was either make it happen now,..or spend the next hour trying to find that chimney,..then three more hours down climbing to the bike.

First attempt failed with a snagg on the rocks.  Second attempt failed for lack of breeze.  I was seriously concerned that it was not going to work.  Desperate to make it happen I bunched up the glider in a horseshoe pattern,…lucked out with the perfect gust of wind,..and spilled her into the air free of snags and riding confidently on the wind.  I had a split second to check for broken lines or major rips,..then I turned,…and pushed as hard as I could through the scrub and broken ground.

I was lifted up off the ground by a few inches and dragged momentarily through a few scrub bushes…then I was up gliding just over the tree tops.  This was the interesting part,,..now that I’d gotten into the air, the trick was staying above the trees and not bottoming out on the shallow slope.  I was ready, and half expecting a tree landing on the side of the mountain.  The wind was keeping me just off the treetops as I aimed for a ravine to try to increase the distance between my boots and the hard stuff below.  Little pockets of warm air would take me up a few meters…lifting my spirits,..then drop me few meters on exiting the pocket…keeping me thoroughly amped.

Another issue I had was penetration into a head wind.  The same features that make my basic DHV1 wing safe make it remarkably difficult to fly into a headwind.  Fortunately, the headwind was providing just enough lift to keep me up,…but it was also preventing me from getting off the mountain. I knew there would be good lift back towards launch, where the eagles were now soaring,..but judging by strength of the headwind,..I didn’t want to risk being blown over the back of the mountain.  The shape of the mountain forced me to fly directly into the wind.  Since I was just barely penetrating,..I was looking at a long and very dark night flight or a top landing in scrub.  Like most pg pilots, I have a sweet toy called a speed bar that can get you out of this situation.  Its detaches by velcro from the bottom of your harness,…you push it out with your feet forcing the attached lines to pull down on the leading edge ….this adjusts your wing’s angle of attack and allowing you to penetrate the winds.  I held my speed bar out at max for 20 minutes…calves were burning under the pressure…but it was working.

I’m on my own for this flight,..so no good photos,..but I’ll throw this shot in..taken near Newman in similar terrain…this picture is not from MT Augustus though..just gives you an idea

Even though there were ups and downs,..and little lift,… the gradual slope of the mountain was falling away from me faster than I was descending.  This eventually allowed me to leave the tree tops and enjoy a safe height off the ground.

It wasn’t great flying conditions,..but it wasn’t bad either.  Even though I was flying remarkably slow against the headwind,..there was very little turbulence.  The sun’s last rays painted a brilliant display over the varios canyons and rock faces below me.  Some things you just gotta see from the sky,..and this is one of them.

Landing was another issue,..there was a lot of complex micro and macro meteorology going on in this region.  A hundred feet off the ground I was lining up on dirt track for a smooth landing when I hit some nasty bump.  I abandoned my preferred landing zone and just focused on keeping the glider stable through the turbulence.  A few seconds later I popped down among some mulga bushes.  The lines and wings were embedded in a small tree and I was on my butt among the spinifex,….but I couldn’t be more content.  I sat there in my harness and just enjoyed the tranquility of it all, breathing in the cool desert night air.  The stars were just starting to pop up, and wind on the desert floor was completely still.  I was in no hurry,…no sense in rushing into a 15km night hike.

I was sorting through the lines from the trees,.when I picked up the the grunt of diesel engine followed by distant voices.  I immediately dropped my kit and grabbed my headlamp, hoping to score a ride out.

These were some cools guys and gals out of Perth, they’d seen my glider in the sky and had stopped to watch the descent. (fortunately for my pride,..they didn’t see my actually landing).  They’d come wandering through the brush trying to catch up with me, and I’m so glad they did.   Back at the campground that night the drinks were on me.

I knocked off my goal of flying Mt Augustus,..but I didn’t really do it in style. I essentially flew the shallowest face, into a headwind…at night, which didn’t provide much freedom to explore the mountain from the sky.  I wanted to soar those cliffs,.. and get some good video footage.  I stuck around for a few more days hoping for another weather window,..but it never came.  Strong winds rolled in for the week preventing any further flying prospects. However, I was fortunate to get one flight,..and I’m happy I scored that.  Mt Agustus is just one more reason to return to Australia.

When I wasn’t sheltering out the winds and telling stories over a cask with my new friends at the campground, I was up on the mountain doing a thorough reconnaissance of potential fly sites.

Wandering around looking for launch sites always leads to other cool experiences.  This is what backcountry paragliding is all about,..not just flying…just as with riding,its using the pursuit of sport or passion as a vehicle for experiencing wild and beautiful  places, peoples and critters.

What I found surprised me.   While the vast majority of the mountain is covered in very dense scrub

,…there are a few gem launch sites.

Armed with gps waypoints for launch zones, notes on weather and terrain,..the next visiting backcountry pg pilot should get some epic good flying in.   I’ll post a paraglider specific report at the end of this post.

There was more to prospect out there then just paragliding sites.  This was an alluvial gold region. That’s gold that’s just lying on or just under the ground.  I met a number of folks out prospecting,..some for recreation, others doing it for a living.  

Note: the world’s largest gold nugget ever found was discovered in Australia in the late 1800s.  It was found just 5 cm below the surface….weighing in at 72 kg.  Some of Australia’s history reads better than fiction.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Welcome_stranger_find_1869.jpg

Okay,…for the paraglider or speed wing  pilots that may trip onto this site,.. here’s a brief report on Mt Augustus..

Mt Agustus, Paragliding/Speedflying Recon

notes:

This fly site involves significant commitment,..but if you’re lucky,..it could be massively rewarding. Its adventure flying in all aspects.To ensure success, I’d make a full on expedition out of it…planning a solid week to make it happen.   Take your best guess on a weather window in mid to late winter…and then go for it.  The mountain is clearly big enough to produce its own thermals,..so light or no winds should allow launches from all sides.  A light north easterly would be optimal(likely a dawn wind)…however,  several launches  allow take offs from other directions.  The only angle I could not find a launch for was the southwest face…..further exploration will be needed for this.

Getting there:

I rode from Perth,…coming through Murchison.  This option offered the least traffic, and the most dirt road.  Due to mining activitiy…the dirt road was as smoothly graded and maintained as any highway.   To minimize dirt roads,..you can come in from Carnarvon and Gascoyne Junction.  Another route is in from Mt Magnet.  Or from the North coming from Tom Price…an awesome and less maintained dirt road.

Base Camp:

By the time you get Mt Augustus,…you’ll need fuel.  The caravan park on the north east corner of the park offers everything you’ll need and is an ideal base of operation.  You can pick up a free map at the campground office…which is basic but good for finding trail heads.

Hiking/climbing to Launch:

Accessing the launch sites is best using the main trail to the summit.  This trail head is on the west end of the mountain … on the southerly face.  This summit trail helps you minimize some difficult bush bashing or exposed climbing.   Plan for about a three hour climb.  For a more technical assent,..assend from Goordgeela lookout on the west end,…north face(bring a rope).  Both routes are fantastic in there own ways…offering petroglyths, water holes,..and water carved canyons.

Watch out for 6.5m olive pythons ….no joke!

Use below listed grid locations with GPS to ensure quick arrival at launch points.

Safety:

I recommend you pack for enough food and WATER  for overnighting….you never know where you’ll end up landing or if you’ll be immobilized by an injury.   You can also check in with the campground attendants before you go.  Cell phones don’t work out there!  There is a dirt road encircling the mountain,..for self extraction you can simply use this road to hike out or flag a vehicle.

The Launch Locations on Mt Augustus

Launch Site “Tim’s Cherry”

This is a seriously awesome cliff launch.  Easily the best launch on the mountain.   There is a spinefex meadow- big enough for several gliders.  All you need is a light thermal updraft or a prevailing wind ranging from North to possibly North East.  This would also be ideal for a speed wing (Tim….this is your baby)

arrow marks launch site, disregard A tag

Launch Site  “”Feeling Lucky”

This is gonna be a tough one,..a tarp would help keep your lines off the rocks.  Takes a Southerly.

Launch Site   “Summit Baby”

Got glide ratio? You’re gonna need it!  You’ll want north to easterly  for this one.   This would be awesome though…as its the very summit of Mt Augustus.  Its a tight launch,..but safe and  not exposed to any real cliffs or danger areas near take off.

Launch  “Mother in Law”

Shallow, full of snags, takes a SW wind

Launch Site “Colorado”

A potentialy good site requiring West to Southerly wind. Good vertical.  The easiest site to access from trail head.

if any pilots have further questions…comment through website and I’ll reply by email.

It felt awkward calling a stranger on the phone and asking him if he’d care to meet up for a coffee.  I scored Fred’s number off the pub owner in Hopetoun. While I might be a stranger to him, he’s no stranger to the Australian riding community.  In short,…that route that knocked me out in the first day,…the CSR,..well Fred and his brother pioneered this route in 1983…. as the first unsupported bikers to run its full 2,000 kms.

http://www.advrider.com/forums/showthread.php?t=547675&highlight=canning+stock+route

Since the,n Fred and his brother have taken a number of other record rides…pushing big BMWs deep into the desert where few if any bikes have gone before.  The ensuing phone chat flowed well and as my route to Perth took me directly through his town,..I ecstatic to be invited to meet Fred at his farm in Jerimungup.

I let myself in through the farm gate, then continued a few kilometers through fleeing flocks of sheep to the farm house.  Fred and one of his buddies were waiting for me, geared up and itch’n to ride.  It was hand shakes all around and I found myself among folks I’d be happy to call riding partners.  I was informed that we were going bush bashing, and a DR 650 was thrust upon me.

Here’s an embarrassing secret I’ll share.  I’ve never ridden a full on dirt bike.  I was more than a little apprehensive at first….yearning for the secure lumbering  feeling of the big GS.  It took me about 20 minutes of trail riding with Fred to gain an enourmas appreciation for proper rigged dirt bikes.  (some would argue with me on this…but compared to what I normaly ride….the DR is a proper dirt bike.)   It was forest creeks, pasture land, dunes, and fast rips along white sand beaches.

At several points, Fred let me lead so I’d get first glimpse of various wild life.

I can’t begin to explain the bizarre nature of the Emus.  You never know what direction they are going to shoot for.  At first they bolted away at an incredible pace,. then they ran back ….then they did the fence trick.  I’d heard of this,..but seeing it was really something.   When Emus are bolting in panic…and they see a 3 strand wire fence,…they lower their heads….pick up momentum…and go for it.  The little head slips effortlessly between the top and second strand…and then the enourmas emu body (think ostrich size) tries to get through the same spot the head went through.  Its not pretty, but it actually works,….there is an enormous explosion of feathers…and the ostrich lands on the other side…usually on his head or back,…then pops up with a sort of “lets see you try that” look….and bolts off again.  I’ve never seen anything like it.

Fred’s an older fellow,…but you wouldn’t know it…whether it’s on two feet or two wheels he’s hard to keep up with.

Quick to smile, shake hands, and offer a story. Fortunately he’s a patient man, because I had about a million questions concerning his extensive achievements in motor biking. It was dark by the time we’d arrived back on the farm and I ended up having dinner with Fred and his mother and then crashing out on the living room floor… as you do.

The following day I returned to Bremer bay to explore more of the area.

I was curios to feel the difference between the DR650 and my R1150 GS Adventure.  I’m always pushing my bike and myself to see what we are capable of (that’s why my bike is a cosmetic disaster).  It was as you’d expect, the DR was way more fun in the soft sand and tight spots in the woods, but I’d take the GS for almost anything else.  That  said,…I had a really really good time riding the beach and sand dunes on the DR… there is definitely going to be room in my future garage for a full on offroad machine.  I can also understand now the value of training on a smaller bike.

Finding great riding where you don’t expect it is always a pleasure.  The street ride from Walpole to Bremerton is easily my favorite street ride in Australia.  Massive trees join together overhead to form a ceiling..shading the immaculately clean and gently twisting belt of swooping tarmac.  Its an easy,..fast and incredibly beautiful ride.  Until this point I’d completely forgotten the how much fun there is to be had on the street.

That said there was fun to be had off the tarmac also,…I put about 20km on a dirt “shortcut”.

It wasn’t, a short cut, but it did put me onto a good campsite by dusk.

I picked up my speed on the way out in the morning…thinking I knew the road from the day before.  I guess I didn’t know well enough, cus I barreled around a corner and came into a deep mud patch.  I stayed off the brakes to maintain directional control(important with big tree trunks around).  A sort of mud sunami rose out of the track and devoured my bike.  I kept her upright, slopped her through, and then took a minute to admire this newly acheived level of filth(it’s a guy thing!)

600km later I had a look at the airfilter.  Wow…the KN filter paid off.

I honestly think the stock bmw dry filter would have had theTed.

One thing Australia is not short on is coast line….obviously since it’s a continent size island!   The significance of this never dawned on me until I got to Western Australia….where pristine white sand beaches and wilderness coast line stretch for thousands of miles.

The nutrient poor soils, lack of water, and harsh weather kept the human population density low, consequently preserving epic tracks of wild land for me to ride through.  That being said, human impact on Australia has had its affect with the extinction of giant kangaroos and 2.5 ton wombats (combination of aboriginal hunting and climate change),..or the more recent loss of the Tasmanian tiger. (some say the tiger still exists in the impenetrable forests of Tasmania..rumor has it that there’s a massive cash reward for anyone who proves it exists)

With a mix of all types of interesting dirt roads,..Fitzgerald National Park has got a lot to offer for anyone appreciating the outdoors.  The roads were closed for the wet season…but coveted track information flowed freely over cold beers at the local pub.  Armed with local knowledge of gate bypasses and backwoods farm tracks…it was a VIP dirt ride entrance into the park.

After a reconnaissance of the area,..I knew I needed my glider.  My wing was over in Albany being repaired…so it was a 600km return trip…I just couldnt wait 3 days for the post.  Well, the weather switched as soon as I arrived back at the park with the glider after a long days ride.  High winds and various high pressure systems were moving through for the next week.  I was super dismayed….the joke was on me for wasting petrol and time just cus I didn’t check the weather report.  I went up the mountain anyway…hoping to get a window as the sun set…no luck….but its good to test your own maturity once in a while…to know you can judge bad weather and resist the temptation to fly it anyway.

And even if you cant fly,…you’re still out there feasting your eyes and soul on an epic view.

But I’m not a kid short on toys and the R1150 is always game…..and all weather is good GS weather.  And there was lots of riding to be had.

One afternoon…contrary to the weather report,..the wind died and the sun peaked through.  I couldn’t believe it,..the predicted storm had just slipped around us by a kilometer and was now setting conditions for a beautiful calm evening.  It was go time!  By now I knew the tracks,…so it was a mad dash in to make the summit before it got dark.

There’s such an exhilaration of arriving on a launch and realizing its really going to happen.  A lot has to come together..and it did!  Wind direction, wind speed, good launch site…everything was perfect for stepping into the sky.  In these circumstances you feel extremely lucky…as you should!

I was expecting a steady descent down to the beach…hoping to scratch a few scraps of lift here and there in route.  However…searching along the north face I scored a nice stable lift band that took me above launch.

I cant begin to describe how good it feels to soar with the vastness of the Australian coast line spreading out below you…. Its so personal…only you and the sky,…. It’s a VIP club reserved for angels and free flight pilots.

I worked the lift band for while, feeling out the north side of the mountain,..then I got ambitious and tried to trace the mountain back to its highest point..in hopes of topping out over the summit.  It wasn’t long before I got caught up in sink and lost the lift band and had to break away from the mountain.

Its never incognito once you pull a 10 meter orange sail out of a bag and step into the sky.  Everyone can see.   There were no tourist in the park at this time year,..however, I had watched a few road workers off in the distance gather to observe from below….and then I saw a pickup top out over a hill way down below…yep..the ranger is here!   I didn’t know exactly what his reaction was going to be…but I had an idea.  One thing about park rangers is that they know their environment…you cant out run em,..especially in a big orange glider.  No matter where I landed I’d be having a chat with him,..so I figured I’d go down say hello.  I touched down a few feet from his truck, unhooked and stepped over to introduce myself.

He was a pretty cool dude just doing his job.  But, apparently I was in a bit of trouble. The ranger said they were protecting a certain sacred scrub up on the mountain…he said if pilots started flying there it would destroy the vegetation. I didn’t ask this,…but I was thinking- right…you put a trail to the top and allow several thousand people to climb to the top each year. If he legalized free flight,…3 people out of 3,000 would be pilots…suggesting to me that we pilots have extremely low impact on the environment in comparison to the rest of the mob dancing all over the top…and we don’t walk down..thats half the impact J!  To his credit though,…I cant argue much, as you can see in the picture I did fly down with a twig caught up in my wing from the launch area.

He also questioned me on bypassing closed tracks and one beach campfire…. As one of the extreme few folks in the park…its easy to recognize my motorbike tracks. Guilty, guilty guilty,..I’d been having quite a ball out there without realizing I was stiring up some trouble.  Its like I was the elusive prey he’d been tracking for days…and now was his triumphant moment as he made the killing shot with a ferocious gaze of disapproval and a lethal dose of finger shaking.

I had one thing going for me,…aside from apologizing profusely to the ranger,..I’d been a low impact camper,..no sign of trash,..all I left was my tread tracks,..and the cold buried coals from a campfire (I accidentally got my sleeping bag wet that night and woke up extremely cold at 4am….so I built a raging bonfire on the beach to warm up).  As the ranger had taken some time in checking out my campsites (digging up the buried coals), he recognized that there was no trash and I’d been doing my best to be a low impact camper.

I almost wish he had been an ass..it would make for a more interesting story,..but the fact is that he was professional and was just putting me in my place, which I technically deserved.  He took my name and address….and didn’t mention any fines..so I think as long as I stay out of any further trouble…I wont get any heat.   Ignorance of the law is not an excuse(except maybe when it involves airspace I might tread into a grey area with paragliding, but for the most part I do my best to respect local laws and customs as a guest in a host country.  So I rode 10 miles beyond the park boundary…found a great campsite and made a massive bonfire, and sipped on a cold beer to celebrate my first and last flight of East Mt Barren.

And, all of you will be able to sleep peacefully tonight knowing that the wonder scrub on East Mt Barren is forever safe from the notorious yank pilot and his flying flower killing apparatus.

Stepping back to where I left off on my last ride report-,..took my time getting back to Halls Creek…enjoying the sunset,.. taking to time to reflect..ect ect…which resulted in an hour of night riding on the Tanimi.  Night riding…is no big deal as long as the track isn’t technically difficult,..the only threat is the occasional marsupial bounding across the road.  I mitigate this by slowing down to 35 mph.. even so it was a real close call as a roo bounded out the darkness,..turning away from me at the last second..close enough to make my stomach lurch.   And just to add to the day’s drama,  that cloud I’d seen way off in the distance earlier that day….it was no dropping buckets from the sky.

I pulled into the gas station at Halls Creek,….soaked to the bone, …, hungry, tired, but relieved to be back.  I saw no sense in setting up camp at the caravan park during a flash flood, so I stepped into the service station and asked the attendant if he’d mind if I hung out inside for a bit and wait out the rain.  “No worries mate”, he’d said, “hang out as long as you like”.  When I handed him some cash for a steamy cuppacino,..he just tossed it back and smiled.   After all I’d been through that day,..then coming into service station during a flash flood,..and experiencing this sort of kindness towards a muddy biker from a gas station attendant,… I just sort of stammered a bit and said thanks…it may just be a coffee,…but to me it was a big deal…to be reminded that with all the trouble in the world,…there’s a lot of really good folks out there.

It took a day to try and sort bike issues in Halls Creek.  I pulled the oil cooler off to try to fix the leaking patch I’d already put in. I couldn’t figure out where to put more steel puddy, as the busted end of the radiator was already choke full.  My next move was to visit the local mechanic for advise and possible repairs on the oil cooler.  The guy laughed a bit then advised me it would be about two weeks before he could look at it.  It was time for plan B.  Stalking up on oil…and running for Broome.

Usually riding a motorcycle is a blast….but there are times when its extremely unpleasant..this was one of those.  Oil was flowing out of the oil cooler,..then catching lift on the wind and blowing over everything,..to include my face.  My windshield on my helmet became redesignated as an oil screen.

Stopping regularly to wipe off the oil and top off, gave me a chance to see some cool sites along the way.

I’d heard about Mary’s pool, so I stopped in to have a look.  Apparently the trick is to only approach water that is clear …and you can see the bottom.  The murky water is not recommended for skinny dipping…..with crocs,,..theres the very real possibility of exiting the water without all your appendages.

I don’t know what kinda trees these are..but reckon every kid deserves to have on in their backyard.

Australia is weird…strange trees, marsupials, giant lizards…and termites..ect

Termites and Camels will likely occupy this land far longer than mankind’s tenuous grasp…..unless we find a way to derive energy from pindam and spinifex….then we’ll be in good hands.

Speaking of spinifex,..just pulled some out of my hip last night,..a souvenir from the vicinity well 50 on the CSR.  Gotta get those spikes out before it causes infection.

There’s two places for a feed between Halls Creek and Broome. For three week old rancid fried chicken…I’d recommend Fitzroys crossing..first service station on west side of town….but for  a proper feed I’d thoroughly recommend Willare,…great burgers,.. sumptuous fries made fresh….and nice people.  Its right on a river where you can pull in some big barramundi if you’ve got a fish’n pole and can score some tips on the best pools from the local aboriginals.   Barrimundi I must add, can rival your high mountain trout in flavor….might just be my new favorite freshwater fish.

Broome didn’t appeal to me much at first,…maybe cus I was sweating it out in a parking lot, dismantling the bike in front of a radiator shop.

My plan was A- repair the radiator, B- bypass the oil cooler, C-strap a car oil cooler on the front of the bike

The radiator tech in town said  the oil cooler was not repairable, so I dashed off to the auto shop for some clamps, connectors and radiator tubing.  This was a bit of ordeal,…running around looking for the right size hose.  (your asking why I just didn’t connect the hose I had…..the only brass  connectors I could get my hands on had different size ports on each size.. necessitating an additional hose.)  I ultimately had tube running around the front the instrument panel…bypassing the oil cooler.

Its common knowledge that you can bypass an oil cooler,…but I was hard pressed to get any intel from someone who had done it on a GS,….how long could I do this for?..how fast could I ride? could I ride during the heat of the day?,…basicly,..how critical was the oil cooler to operating the bike..and what exactly would happen if I bypassed it?  So I roared off fully absorbed with my latest science project.

Nothing is ever easy.  The brass connectors where leaking like sieves.  Yeah!….oil in my face…back to step one as I pulled off on the side of the road,..brushed away the sweat and flies and begin adjusting the experiment.  The leak appeared to be coming out of the threads on the connector.  This didn’t make any sense to me as the connectors were designed to be air tight.  I was about to go crazy with self amalgamating tape,..when a massive truck pulled up and a bearded man leaned out the window, “you gonna be all right”, he yelled.  I gave a thumbs up and said I was good, mentioning that I was just sorting out a minor oil leak.   I didn’t ask for help, but I’m sure glad he took the initiative.  Within a second he was out of the truck introducing himself as Jack, ( known locally as Jack Sparrow).  While hovering over my connectors he murmured,  “Ahh…its your threads…you gotta throw on some thread tape mate!”  Just about everyone in Australia seems to know more about mechanics than I do…I had never even heard of the thread tape. Maybe it’s the vast distances of WA..and lack of available services…folks out here seem to know how to either fix or gehto rig anything enough to keep it going.  Now his buddy(Brenden) was out of the truck also…offering advice and encouragement while sipping on a beer.

Jack rummaged through his tool boxes, and returned with thread tape and two cresent wrentches.  A minute or two later,..I had a non leaking bypass tube,..and a roll of thread lock tape to add to my kit.  These guys were already top notch in my book,..but the subsequent invitation to a barbecue elevated the duo to saint status.

Its so typical of Adventure motorcycle touring to go from lows to highs(or vice versus) in a blink of an eye….this was no exception.  Scooped up from the hot dusty roadside and delivered into the  cool shade of a veranda overlooking Indian ocean…..with cold beer,..American style ribs(done right)..followed by massive T bones……like I was saying…saint status!  As the sun was setting we rode the old bushbasher a few hundred meters through the scrub and onto the beach….

(Jack, Brendan, and “the doctor”)

It was an epic evening hanging out with Jack Sparrow the diesel fitter and Brendan the pearl diver and “the Doctor”.  Thanks to these guys, Broome now rides well in  my memories.

If you get bored  riding long distance…go ahead and put a hole in your oil cooler line….get a good solid stream flying in your face….than after 600 kms,..tape up the hole and ride with out the facial oil spill,…riding will be an absolute pleasure!  And that’s how I felt riding out of Broome….oil free,..loving the open road again.

Due to the previous days adventures…it was a late start leaving Broome… I only made it a hundred miles before the sun’s light was giving way to shadows along the road.  There is a risk associated with animal activity at this time,..but the beauty of the suns last rays spilling a golden hue over the country side is inspirational.  The temperature drops and the winds die down….it even seems to smells different…it’s a transitional period in time and space that spills in through your helmet,..allowing you,..if only for a moment to become part of something more vivid and beautiful than anything in your imagination, and this is why you step beyond the steril environment within your house or car,…..to ride a motorcycle.

Bush camping was good that night,…I was mourning a bit over my lost pot and the luxury of hot water as I choked down the dry noodles, followed by cold cocao(which was actually pretty tasty..like a starbucks frapaccino…minus the whip cream,…and minus the embarrassment of being caught drinking a starbucks frappacino by your buddies,…..uh er…”I was just picking this up for the misus”..as you brush the cream off our upper lip)

Sitting astride my bike,..munching way, I observed as a bit of dried noodle dropped from my lips and fell into the red pindam dust.  Two or three ants spontaneously appeared out of nowhere racing for the trophy. The biggest ant would procure the dried noodle and march off, holding the comparatively massive noodle proudly over his head like a warrior returning successfully from the hunt.  I was impressed to find that any morsel of food that dropped on the ground was gone in a matter of seconds…swept away by the opportunistic insects.  Fortunatley I have a bugproff(mostly) seamless tent,..so I don’t have to worry about being carrried off in the middle of the night and waking up in a termite mound

The stars were abound and as I switched on my headlamp…so were the scorpions..prompting me to transfer back into my motocross boots.   It was the tiny little brown ones.  I’m still hoping to catch site of a big black one.

After a few hundred miles of riding in the midday heat,..I proclaimed the oil cooler bypass experiment a success.   I had no overheating issues.  I’m still not confidant this would work in summer heat, or hard dirt or sand riding.  It was a temporary fix that would get to me to Newman where I could base camp with a garage to sort everything out.

Newman,..has become a sort of  western desert safe haven for me thanks to Kelvin’s hospitality.  I was first scooped up by Kelvin a few months ago while broke down in the Newman caravan park. Often times, breakdowns or any sort of situational lows offer opportunities to meet interesting people and make new friends.  Aside from having a place to stay and a garage to work out of,..Kelvin’s knowledge in motorbikes, riding and the associated dark arts of manipulating metal ,…is an epic opportunity for a biker limping in off the CSR.

Note..as previously stated above…..that the radiator tech in Broome said my oil cooler was not repairable.   Kelvin fixed the oil cooler.

Giving it a few tries and massive amounts of arlydyte glue,  Kelvin found and secured the leak.  Leave it to a tool maker to prove everyone wrong.  Meanwhile, I dismantled the instrument collection.

and patched up all the broken bits with a chaotic array of rivots, aluminum sheet, foam and glue.  It took me a few days,..but the front panel carrier and associated bits were holding together again.

Just as I was wrapping up repairs, I realized I had an issue with my handle bars striking against the windscreen.  This is interesting(at least to me).  I’m surprised I hadn’t realized the significance of this issue a long time ago.  If I turned the handle bars hard one way or another, they would smack the edges of the windshield.  This is not an issue when you’re riding, cus obviously you lean more than turn a bike…and only need a hard turn for paddling around a parking lot.   What I hadn’t realized when I left Brisbane last March.is that when the bike was dropped…the handle bars would be turned hard and rammed against screen, causing major trauma to the front panal carrier (which supports the windscreen).   So the big get off with the termite mount slammed the handle bars into the front panel carrier,..breaking the panel carrier..which in turn broke the oil cooler.

I assumed it was because my handle bars were bent(which they are).  Then I figured it was the distorted front panel carrier (which is still twisted a bit).  But Kelvin found the true source of the problem…which was a bit embarrassing.  My steering limiters gone!   The steering limitters under the triple clamp must have been bashed off during the accident with the bull dozer almost a year ago.   It takes a massive force to break this,..but a collision powerful enough to lift biker and bike into the air on a freeway…would likely do the trick.

Kelvin….drilled some holes,..set new threads,..and installed a much more effective system.

We also noticed that my steering head bearing was grabbing…but I’m putting this off for the moment.

Another exquisite meal in the shop.

There were a few more surprises and ensuing solutions but after a week in Kelvins shop I had the bike repaired well enough to continue touring in confidence.  It was now time to roll South.  I’ve done a lot of big miles out here,..cant really say there is any method to the madness.  With the exception of the tyre and fuel fees,…it’s all good fun.

check out these loads,..I’ve seen extra wide loads before…but these actualy took up the ENTIRE road.

So …no shit there I was…. riding down the road at 70mph…. when  I smacked into an eagle.

Eagles in Australia are HUGE…. Especially the ones near Cooper Peddy, fortunately for me this was just a young one…probably hadn’t learned yet that it wasn’t the top of the food chain.    It was just like that vulture I hit in Peru…same scenario…a few birds having a good feed on a carcass,…me arriving on the scene….all but one fly to the side of the road…and the one creative bird goes his own way….my way.

Instead of rolling off my helmet like the Peruvian vulture,I felt the impact as the eagle struck somewhere on the front of the bike.  About 100 meters down the road I had slowed down and was pulling a uturn to see what kind of carnage I had caused.  I was looking up the road trying to spot an injured bird,..when an explosion of brown feathers rolled over windscreen, giving a me serious surprise to the point where I almost dropped the bike.  I had assumed the bird had struck my headlights then rolled off,..but it had actually lodged itself on the air scoop and oil cooler,… as big as it was, I just hadn’t realized it was riding with me until it came to life.  The bird was now on the ground on the side of the road and I dismounted to have a closer look.

I don’t consider myself a big softie, but this was a gorgeous animal,..a big proud looking creature..and I felt like a huge ass for damaging  an eagle.  It was alive and active, but clearly couldn’t fly.  My best guess was that its  wing was broken. I wanted to carry it back into the nearest town to see if some one could help, but this was no finch…it was  raptor.  The only way I could carry it would be to try to fit it in my jacket…zipped halfway up.  Even if it did fit,..its very active beak would be inches from my jugular…so I canned that idea.

I grabbed a discarded coke can and placed it on the road as a marker…then drove back to the nearest town (Mount Magnet).  I wasn’t sure if the townsfolk would just laugh at me,..or if they’d actually help.  Everything seems to revolve around the pubs in these small towns,..so I stepped in and approached the bar.

Much to my surprise, I found myself in an awkward reunion with two bar maids I’d met in Perth over a month ago.  I rushed the usual acquaintances, then I burst out with my eagle story.  The gals made a phone call and within a few minutes the town coppers arrived.  The Police were very cool about it all and were interested in helping out. Although mount Magnet didn’t have an animal rescue, the next town to the north (Meekathara) did.  So the idea was to retrieve the bird and then hold it in Mount Magnet until the meekathara group could make the drive down to pick up the eagle.

I guided the police out of Mt Magnet and back to where the bird lay.  I was sure glad I’d emplaced that coke bottle marker, because in the fading light it took me a while to locate the bird… would have been embarrassing to bring the police out for nothing…I already felt a little weird about involving the police in the first place.  I retrieved a towel from my bike, and the police gently wrapped up the bird and returned to MT Magnet.

I returned to town as well, to grab a brew in the pub and catch up with the old friends.  It was good to warm up, and swap some stories.  As I was sipping on an Emu bitter (which is about as savory as it sounds), the police came into the pub and let me know that they’d found someone to take care of the eagle for the night, and that animal rescue folks would be in the following day.  Doesn’t really rectify smashing up an eagle,..but I felt like things were as right as I could make them.

I pushed on that night for another 50 miles on a cattle station road, until I was suitably “out there” for good bush camping.  It was another great night under the stars.

The dirt road from Challa Station to Bullfinch is about 200 miles of good outback riding.

It passes from desert scrub, along vast lake beds and into full on forests.  Much of the dirt was immaculately graded offering opportunities for highway speeds minus the highway boredom factor.

I cant explain this….but it was worth a picture..above

The route,..Kelvin’s recommendation, was one of the few dirt shortcuts that actually was faster than taking a freeway- good call Kelvin!

I don’t know what it is with me and animals these days,..but I found myself stopping again to try to right things.  Fortunately I didn’t hit the sheep.  It was caught up in a fence along side the road.  I noticed it doing the funky chicken,..bouncing around in fright as I drove by.  I pulled a uturn…and had a closer look.  Some how it had got its head wrapped up on the wire and was melded in with the fence.  The ever handy leatherman(Thanks Kerry) came to the rescue as I cut the wire from around the sheeps neck and sent it on its way.  Probably didn’t really save it,…as a station hand would eventually have come along and freed it,..but I’d like to think that I’d save it the further embarrassment of having its head stuck in the fence.

I pushed on a little further through the night to make it to the coast.  I found that my brights light was way out of adjustment,…. It was quite funny,…the focal point of the beam…was aimed forward and pointing up to the sky….it was like traveling with a spot light floating above and in front  of me…  if I had any sense of humor at all, I’d have taken the time to cut out the shape of a bat and glue it to the headlight.

There’s always that chance for things to take a turn for the worse.  So many things can go wrong the minute you step out your comfort zone, if you really tally up all the things that can go “pear shaped” the minute you step beyond your doorstep,.. it’s amazing one can muster the courage even to get out of bed,..not to mention driving a vehicle or …heaven forbid.. pulling the throttle on a motorcycle.

Ironicly, that’s probably what lures some of us out of bed each morning…the novelty of  a new day and the unpredictable nature of what may lay ahead.

Imagine the cruel monotony of a world made predictable, a world with out risk or reward…bound to endless regularity.

If I knew for sure that I’d succeed in riding my motorcycle around the world..I’d probably have chosen a different endeavor.  It was the big “what if “ that attracted me to the Adventure touring….what if you crossed into Mexico..what it you continued south, what if you broke down, what if you crashed, what if you changed as a person returned a stranger, what if you got lost, what if you failed, what if you found a way to mitigate, adapt to or overcome these risks…and in the process learning and having the adventure/experience and education of a lifetime.  The motorcycle,…like the world,.. is unpredictable, risky and rewarding beyond measure.  Its the imperfect  mud flinging chariot to whisk you through a full-on adventure…a life worth getting out of bed for.

But I digress, …sooo there I was laying on my back in the sand and spinifex 294 kilometers from the nearest paved road.  I sat up and began to check myself out for injuries….then realized my bike was laid over on the side of the track… roaring away with the back wheel spinning in air….something must have jammed the throttle open as it crashed into the sand bank.   I launched myself for the bike and switched off the ignition. I was no longer concerned about myself,.. as the bike was my ticket out of the desert.

This was not my usual low speed dirt get off.  Judging by the air mileage points I’d accrued while flying from said bike to said spinifex bush,..I likely had come off at full speed and accrued more than just cosmetic damage on the bike.  As it was laying on a bit of a decline, I had to dig a slot out behind each wheel, so as I lifted the bike,…the wheels would slide in and assist in getting her vertical. I heaved her up and set her on the kick stand.

With the bike upright, I stepped back and had look at the culprit of this mess (I’ve admonished all responsibility).  It was a termite mound.

Those of you who’ve never seen these before,…and have had the good fortune not to crash into them..I’ll explain.  Although they look cool, they are a bikers nightmare….read the OZ forums on advrider.  I snagged a 14 inch(dia) mound with my pannier,..its like hitting a tree stump.  The termite mound material is akin to concrete.(.and has historicly been used as such for building purposes up until the early 1900s in Western Australia.)

I know these are threat to me as a biker,…and I was careful not to ride to close to the big ones….but I never saw this one coming.  The termite mound,…engaged in evil conspiracy with the spinifix,.. was perfectly disguised in the brush

…as I came flying down the track with my pannier dragging among the scrub on the side of the track…waaaak! I smacked hard into the mound with one pannier and it put me into the .08 second rodeo.

Hoping for the best I began to pat the bike down searching for signs of damage…panniers and rack took bit of a bending(aka modern art) but still completely functional-surprising given the impact(despite impact,..Locky’s panniers carried 42 liters of fuel and all equipment with out breaking)..front fender and instrument panel seemed askew…probably bent front frame piece…some cracked plastic..no big deal..i was just thinking I’d gotten away with out major issues when my hand traced across a wet patch under the shocks.   “Oh shit!”  With mounting concern I traced the ribbon of leaking oil to the region behind the oil cooler.

If the situation allows…its always nice to take a few minutes to freak out…you know,..just go a head and panic for a minute.  Things didn’t look good,..and I was in a potentially bad situation. But then after about two minutes I came to grip with the fact that I was on my own for this one and I’d have to lock down and sort out a way to either fix it and extract the broken bike from the desert,..or at the very least extract myself, lest I succumb to the heat and the flies and waste away to become nutrients for a massive spinifex bush.     There is always the SPOT beacon,..but you don’t press that unless you’re bitten by a Taipan while simultaneously being pulled into a billabong by a 10meter croc- things weren’t hadn’t reached that degree of suck yet.

Before I start pulling things apart and get’n to “fixing”, I took a minute to realize my situation and come up with a couple plans.  Although I was over 290 kilometers from Halls Creek,.. there was an aboriginal community 124 km back down the track, although a bit flooded in parts,..only about a 1/3 of that route was real desert CSR track.  It wasn’t something I’d like to walk,…but given the recent rains, old CSR wells and occasional native soaks,..I was confidant I could make it out on foot if I traveled at night when it was cool.  More reasonably– there was also a convoy of two 4wheel drive trucks I’d passed that morning… likely heading this way…in a pinch I could stash the bike..and hitch out…then return with parts.  … but I was getting ahead of myself..might as well turn the engine over and see how she sounds.

She fired up with a bit of hesitation…reminding me that I was an abusive undeserving rider.  She sounded pretty good,.. although as I pulled on the throttle a stream of oil squirted along the instrument side of the beak.  I was hoping beyond hope that is was just a damaged hose.  It was time to start breaking her down to have a look.  I pulled out my tarp…super handy in a situation like this, and laid her out for parts.  I threw on my hat to ward off the sun and flies…pulled a long drink out of my camel back hose…then started removing the beak(upper fender).

Strangely enough,…my oil cooler was punctured not from the front where I’d expect the damage to be,..but from behind.  Wouldn’t it have been funny if I’d invested money in an oil cooler guard…which sits in front…just to have my cooler blown out from behind….you’ve got to see the comedy in that…almost makes me wish I had one.   At any rate,…the main bracket holding the instruments had fractured on impact and a piece of the plastic moved forward penetrated the oil cooler. (I think this plastic bracket may have been fractured from the highway accident back in September..oops)

http://www.vimeo.com/12195027

I sawed off the invading plastics,..then loosened one side of the oil cooler so I could swing it out and work on it.  I’d never done this before….so it took me a lot longer than I’ll publicly admit.  This type of repair is not fun…fun is working in the shade of a garage with a cold beverage on hand, good tunes and a total absence of flies.  Its actually kinda scarry,..what if it doesn’t come back together right, what if I break something on accident…and the what if I’m only making the situation worse?

It was at this point of desperate repair that the two 4wheel drive trucks arrived on scene.

Unfortunately they didn’t stock pile BMW parts in their tool kit,..how careless!  …but never the less I was glad to have the company.  As I understand it, they were retired farmers out to knock out the biggest 4wheel drive challenge in OZ.  Despite the circumstances,..we had some good laughs…some joke about honey and lesbians that would only ever be funny at that time in place in the Great Sandy Desert.  They let me top up my water containers off their tanks,,,..made some good recommendations and offered to stick around to help.  These were good folks,,,the kind you’d expect to run across out here (not the “Wolf Creek” type,..of which I’d passed that morning( the crater,..not Ivan)).  In reality,..things weren’t to bad,..there’s not a lot they could do for me by sticking around and I was confidant I could extract myself regardless of how the repairs went,..so I didn’t keep them up.

The convoy rolled away in the dust with one of the guys yelling leaning out the window and yelling back that they’d have a cold one waiting for me if I made it to well 49.  It then got very quiet and lonely on the CSR.

I slathered a load of cold weld goop all over the busted end of the oil cooler and then proceeded to hook it all back up again. It took me a long time to get everything back together,…once a frame is bent,..nothing wants to line up.  I’d be trying to line up 3 separate parts…then squeeze in a screw…but my oily hands would slip off the allen key,..and it would fall into the sand..having to be cleaned..and the process starts all over again.  Eventually it all came back together…but the sun was sinking fast and the riding day was over.  I got the bike off the road and set camp.

That was an emotionally difficult evening.  I knew that I’d likely blown what would have been a golden opportunity to run the CSR.  The weather window was perfect.  Recent rains had packed down the sand,..creating uniquely good sand riding conditions.  I had the fuel, food, maps, coordinates…and was rolling along brilliantly ahead of schedule(granted I was not even close to the hardest sections of the CSR).  Not to mention the planning, time and collateral that I had invested in this.  (I drove nearly 3,000 miles just to get on this track…that’s 5 days of tarmac riding and hefty fuel bill ranging upwards of $1.70 a liter….I may not be laughing..but you might as well!)  So a great start to an epic expedition went to shit over termite mound.

It wasn’t over yet..at least I thought, as I lounged back on my bike…feet propped up on the handlebars…gazing up at the stars…I had some Copeland…”Fanfare for the Commen Man” playing in my MP3player and I thought,,,just maybe that cold weld will work…maybe I can push on in the morning….might as well have a go and see if she holds.  I’d like to think that the promise of a cold beer at well 49 did not influence my decision making process.

I awoke with a heavy heart and an aching body,..knowing things weren’t to good, but I was still going to give it a shot.   Breakfast was quick..since I no longer had a pot to cook in(my mess kit was on the front on my pannier…taking the blunt of the termite vs pannier demolition exposition

…it was all cold meals from here on out.)

The bike fired up, and I was off on the sandy track.  If there is one thing to say about these fat BMW boxer engines,…is that the engines are rock solid,…you can sure put them through hell and back and they keep going…Over 58,000 miles of abuse..and she’s still roaring away.

Now that I’d been through the school of hard termit mounds,..I  slowed my pace..which made for tough going…you can ride over sand or through it, depending on your speed,..and riding fast and over it is a whole lot less work.   But for fear of hidden termite mounds and a massive amount of brush overhanging the trail,..I had to slow down and fight the sand in the process.  All my external food pockets on the front side of the panniers were ripped off by the sticks hanging on to the trail.  Sure,..its a 4wheel drive track wide enough for a truck,..but its only possible to ride in the ruts…which sticks you on either side of the trail dragging your panniers and handlebars through the brush overhanging the track.

I pushed until just shy of well 49,

you can just make out my bike in the center of the above photo

where I dismounted, pried the plastics away and had good look at the oil cooler.  Oil was everywhere…even threatening to drip down on the  forks and onto the brake calipers.

It was a sad call to make…but it was time to pull the plug.  The odds were really stacking up against me …..i could feel a bad situation of cumbulus numbis proportion…mounting in my horizon.  (literally speaking,..there were some big storm clouds brewing between me and my escape route,..if the all ready wet track near Billiluna took a flashflood, I could potentially be stuck.    (below are some pics from the csr section near Lake Gregory…. it was almost enough to turn me around on first stretch out of Billiluna, but there’s always a side track, snorkel through, or circumscribing bush bashing option..which got me out of the wet on the way out.)

Maybe if I was with a buddy,..and had spare oil, and perhaps a bottle of Beam ..maybe then I’d consider pushing on,..but in my current situation..it was time to turn around and give it up for another day.

Even though it was heart breaking to turn back, I was consumed with the task of extracting myself before I ran out of oil….and not wiping out on another termite mound of course. I would also be racing storm before it submerged the track.

It was good riding,..the small dunes were a blast to bump over..and I knew the track from the ride out so I could enjoy a little more of the surroundings as opposed to just focusing on the track.

All the salt lakes were full, lots of grassy meadows opened up before me…the spinifix was sprouting new green shoots turning the desert into a rolling green prairie. Its amazing what happens when water touches the sand.

I stopped a few times to pull out the tripod and have some fun with the camera.

I may have bungled the whole CSR endeavor,..but I was still doing something right…because I was still out riding beautiful country and lov’n life.    An hour out of halls Creek I stopped to catch the sunset.   I pulled off the track and drove down a dried lakebed for kilometer,..turned off the  engine.  The heavy rumble of the boxer engines which I had been blasting my ears all day was instantly exchanged for the soft tones of crickets and varios birds.

It was another epic sunset in the outback.

I couldnt say what bone life’s gonna throw me when I wake up in the morning,…and I guess I like it that way. (accept maybe if I could know that I’d wake up tomorrow with a new oil cooler at the foot of my sleeping bag…that would be all right!)

24/MAY/2010

Its such a pleasure to know that folks have a sense of humor and are willing to share it!  I’ll be keeping an extra sharp look out for the lethal outback moth…or the notoriously dangerous kiwi.   And you’d best not ride at night lest you collide with shark…or an elephant.  This sign is what it should look like -

Its been with some regret that I haven’t updated the blog in a while,..  I’ve got about 3 ride reports to catch up on…just didn’t want to half ass it..so I’ve been holding off til I had the chance to do it right..  Exmouth, Perth…these were really good times…clearly..seeing as how I’ve been here so long.  But I haven’t been laying around..been pretty busy actually.

I thought I just throw in an update to keep in contact until I can write up another proper blog posting.  Just to catch everyone up that’s wondering why I’ve been in Perth so long.  In a nutshell,..I came down to Perth, spent a couple weeks researching my next move,..which was originally planned for India.  At the last moment..even after I’d purchased an Indian Visa..I pulled the plug on it.

It just didn’t seem right,…monsoons rolling in,..no passage to Europe(Tajikistan wont accept my amended passport..Iran is off limits for me, and the whole Indian Subcontinent would be blown out for paragliding…. That was the final touch.  Paragliding India and Nepal is on the bucket list…no sense going there to ride,..just so I’d have to return and fly it later…might as well do it right and put it off for the right season(OCT-FEB).

So I had two revelations…I needed to get farther north for summer riding,…and I also wasn’t ready to leave Australia.  The solution was to shoot for Russia,…and sneak in one more month of Ozzy adventure riding.  The crux being collateral…having taken a severe budget hit in Australia…I needed a little more dough to make it all come together.  Its amazing to think that two years ago my American dollar would be worth almost twice as much here…which would be handy in cases like buying TKC80 tires in Perth…which ran me about 700$…you would think I was putting rubber on a Ferrari.

saving the knobbies for the real deal-  (just looking for a campsite off the road here,..not really desert riding at this point.)

I’ve spent all my dough on her(Oz) customs and taxes,…bled across her roads..and sweated dearly across the outback…I invested a lot in the Australian experience..and it was worth it,..so worth it,..that I had to get back in the red dirt for just one more run!

I picked the mother of all 4wheel drive routes in the world…. how could I not have a look..while I was in country.  The Canning Stock Route,  the name has haunted me long before I ever thought to come to Australia.  I knew it was serious, expedition grade stuff,..crossing something like five deserts.  About 1,000 miles,..with one fuel depot,…long, remote, exotic, the real Mccoy.

For a proper intro to the Canning Stock Route (CSR) see this link

http://www.exploroz.com/TrekNotes/WDeserts/Canning_Stock_Route.aspx

The route is steeped in some hardcore Aussie history, much of it reading like a Louis Lamour novel…except the windswept graves along the route remind the traveler that this is no fiction novel, but historic evidence of real ,….pathfinders,..gold prospectors,…cattle drives,..and lethal engagements with aboriginals. -blows my mind that most Australians have never even heard of the Canning.  (that being said, I’ve met Americans that didn’t know BMW made motorcycles…and I never knew that a previous American President made is fortunes in the Australian Gold fields …guess it just shows where you’re interests lie.

It crosses some of the last untouched stretches of wilderness in the world.  In the late 1970s there were still nomadic bands of aboriginals roaming this part of the country.. living exactly as they had for thousands of years. Others argue there are still bands roaming Gibson and Great Sandy Desert.

Aside from the obvious,. fuel, water, food, and safety logistics…which I’ve worked out…the crux is 995 sand dunes that need to be scaled.  I’ve seen video clips of 4wheel drive vehicles failing to climb these dunes….I’m worried about that.  The right way to do this on a motorcycle is to procure a 250 cc dirt bike, and a support 4wheel drive to haul fuel and cold beer.

Of course there is another way to do it.

I gained a great deal of motivation from an old news clipping of two Aussie bikers who pulled it off in the late 70s on modified R80s unsupported by using fuel drops.  Since then I believe some bikers have pulled it off with out fuel drops, by tapping into the aboriginal community of Kuniwartji for fuel.

So here’s an idea… why not take a big bike out there…”have a go” as they say down here.   It’s a huge bike,..it can take a huge load…easier than the standard dirt bikes. Yeah..it can be f* handful in deep sand fully loaded….its not as much fun as a small bike.  With the exception of a few friends…everyone has said its not going to work…and I think they are probably right…that’s why I’ve set up a serous mitigation plan to minimize risk and enable my extraction if things go “pear shaped”.   My goal is to set out on Tomorrow ..with a ton of fuel food and water…and check it out.  I wanna lay tread on the CSR …if it gets nasty…I’ll back off.  I’ve done a lot of research..so I believe I know where the toughest sections are..and I should have enough fuel to back off before or at any point during those tough sections.  My only concern at this point is mechanical failure and getting the pig stuck in the dunes…but that’s what back up plans are for.  If there was ever a time to have a look at the spot tracker updates…this is it..  use the “where I am” tab at the top of this page.,…then follow direction to link to SPOT page,..click on satalite imagery and zoom in to see some wicked far out campsites.

I’m currently writing from ….umm…I forgot the name of this place..Willare or something…about 200k east of Broom in the Kimberly,..its humid, but pleasantly so at night.  It was a long tarmac ride up here…but not at all boring…check these pics.

most would trailer their bikes or quads to the desert,…but this guy has outdone himself with the mother of all desert vehicles…check out the camel.

and check out the size of these trucks

when they pull a you turn…the truck will actually pass its own trailer

this tree may have more character than I do

outback school bus

24/MAY/2010

*now sending from Halls Creek,..refitting for a day,..then having a go, current conditions look wet,..access road(Tanimi) is currently closed, but I can score a permit to get in,…CSR could be dry enough…today looks hot and dry,..hopefully enough to get me around the salt lake lowlands on the CSR tomorrow.

27/MAY2010

back in Halls creek,..defeated by the mighty termite! forced into retreat with busted oil cooler..  more to follow

Over 40,000 miles of globe trotting abuse and the big BMW finally decided to give a little abuse back at me. Electrical Problem…..  the most feared two words in the average biker’s vocabulary!   Fortunately for me there is  a secret subculture of master mechanics that lurk deep with in the asylum of Advrider.com.  These folks are up day and night, hovering over the computer…..just hoping some fool Yank gets his bike broken in Oz so they can rush to the rescue spewing forth copious amounts of (mostly) sound advice, assistance and comic relief.  The ADVrider community,. (especially the Aussies)  rallied on the forum to assist me. And much to my surprise one of the ADVriders actually showed up in person….in NEWMAN(a tiny mining town in the middle BFN, Western Australia)

Its all posted http://www.advrider.com/forums/showthread.php?t=556537&highlight=yank

But I’ll copy in some of the more entertaining bits from the forum,

posted day 1 in Neman-

---

“Hoping for some tech advice,.. made it all the way across Australia running tough dirt tracks with a solid running R1150 GS adventure. However,..while stopped at a gas station in Newman I came out to fire her up….no reaction from starter button. I checked the kill switch,..checked the battery,..bypassed the sidestand switch…no luck…and I’m out of ideas. All my display lights light up,..everything looks/sounds great except there is just no reaction when the starter button is pressed. Please send me your wisdom
Chris”

(I got about 20 pages of replies from all over the world, some of these guys literaly spent hours explaining my wire harness to me. I cant post it all tonight, but the comic relief posts are to classic to pass up  -like this vid posted by Sundowner

And this brialliant poet(Troy Safari Carpente) actually wrote new lyrics to the song “six months in a leaky boat”- by Split Enz

“When I was a young yank, I wanted to ride ’round the world
That’s the life that’s best, ridin’ far ‘n fetched
Spirit of adventure to circumnavigate this land
The lust of a pioneer… not- much mechanical idea…

I remember the glance, then I crapp’ed… in me pants
Headlights dead, tempers flare, “…check the fuse?… fuckin’ where?!”
I just spent six hours at NewmanPark
strugglin’ just to get a spark…

“Where-the-fuck-is-Pil’bra…?” rugged individual… he’s a bloody pearl
At the left end of the world
The tyranny of distance wouldn’t stop a KTM…
So why should it stop you? (a Bee-Em-Double-fuckin’-you)

Ah come on all you lads, let’s chip in and help out
There’s a world’s expertise
on this forum… ”help him please?”
or he’ll spend six days stuck at NewmanPark
six ways just to find no spark…

Outback towns can be cruel
Don’t be fooled down the pub…
Once they say; “it’s your shout…”, poor septic ‘ll ne-ver-get out…
He’ll just spend six months in Warrawanda Creek
also known as… “up-shit creek”…”

Posted day 3 in Newman-

“the exoricism of GS

---

ADVriders of OZ,…I’m uber pleased to announce I’m mobile again. Thanks to you guys and especialy local advrider(Pilbara) ..I’m out of the trailer park and back on tour. I realize you guys spent some significant time helping me diagnose the problem…I’m in your debt…this is an I owe you on a napkin… the name’s Chris Barnecut,..and if we link up I owe you a cold one.

So…. I climbed into my tent last night with a heavy heart ..feeling exhausted after a day of tinkering in the sun and swatting at flys while pushing wires around. but as you said I was getting closer to the culprit and I at least knew it wasnt the starter/ starter relay/ clutch switch/ neutral switch or sidestand switch… so the following day I had to find out if it was a break in the wire,…a busted ignition or kill switch

Driven from my tent in the morning by the roaring sun,.. I emerged to find local ADVrider “Pilbara” in my campsite offering assistance and relocation to a real workshop. And he showed up with UTE…with a crane in the back…best rescue ever!

Everything was a lot cooler having a shop to work in and hardcore Australian Safari racer helping me sort out my issues.

long story short…..the problem…drum role please…….. both ignition button and kill button….gone bunk! I know…go ahead and tell me I’m wrong and it was just the kill switch….but we tested each about 10 times with the voltmeter in several different ways…I know it doesnt make sense,…but both were jacked.

Oh..pulling the ignition switch housing was difficult at first,..cus a sticker was covering one of the screws….took us a lot of struggle to figure that one out,..once we lifted that last screw,..she all came apart nicely…its not a closed unit.

Fixing it, – bypassed the kill switch (I’ve never (intentionally) used it anyway,..always reached for the ignition key on getoffs)
- put in a new and very exiting toggle switch to replace the old bunk ignition button…..makes me feel like jet pilot now when I start up the bike.

now she’s running like a dream….thanks for getting me back on the roads guys!….special thanks to ADVrider Pilbara”

parting shot from Newman..

So she’s all worked out,..and I’ve got a new friend in Newman… Kelvin is the only person I’ve ever known that has more dirt miles on his 1200GS than paved miles.  I think his form of riding can best be described as BADDASS!

He’s ever rougher on his bike than I am on mine,..except he writes off bikes with a lot more skill grace.  I look forward to following him in his next Australian Safari Race (Aussie version of the Paris Dakar).  Not to let the cat out of the bag or anything,…but he’s got a race bike coming together …thats never been seen before.  Built around GS1200 engine..its going to turn heads at the next rally.

Pro sideCar Moto Racer and race engineer Paul with Kelvin in the devil’s workshop with project X

So from Newman its a hot mostly paved road

l

to the western edge of the Continent…and the Indian Ocean.

the only way to celebrate crossing a very hot continent is by cerimonial skinny dipping…sorry no lude pics (thats on my “other” website)

Exmouth was a blast! nothing but good times and top notch hospitality from new friends. will continue next week on that

It’s a strange comparison, but riding a motorcycle and mountaineering have a lot in common.  Just as when your riding, its ideal to climb with a partner, but sometimes whether by circumstances or choice you find your self on your own.  And when you’re on your own,..its a very different experience.  Whether its on a mountain or dirt track ….. when you’re solo -your senses are heightened by the increased risk.  You’re much more aware of your actions and consequences by the impending fact that you if mess up and get hurt…its gonna get ugly,..and ingenuity and fortitude will be your only friends.   So you don’t make the same careless mistakes you might make if you’ve got the security of a partner. You don’t make mistakes calculating fuel consumption,..you don’t miss a loose bolt when checking over your bike, you don’t forget a tie town on your fuel cans,..you dont lose your position on the map, and you are completely focused as you ride down the track.  This sort of concentration and awareness is a good thing,..and it made for a totally different experience for my second attempt on the Gunbarrel Track.

I can talk tough about soloing(especially over a good brew), but the reality of it is,..its not all gung ho hardcore commitment like it was for the boys back in the day….they were the true adventurers(those before satellite navigation/communication)…I’m running with a SPOT tracker,  the ultimate crutch for anyone pushing into the wild and beyond the cell phone signal.  From almost anywhere in the world, its only a push of a button to let folks know you need help.  There are two issues with using a SPOT device,…one is that when your up a creek with out a paddle,..your boat is usually leaking too…things usually don’t fail until you really really need them,..so the SPOT beacon is merely a back up plan because it can fail like anything else. The second issue is that I’d be extremely humiliated to have to push that button.   Rescuing is fun,..getting rescued is not….especially if your soloing out on the Gunbarrel where everyone told you not to go in the first place.

pic- took a break to climb the only hill I’d seen in days…black dot is my bike..and the track leading off into the  scrub is the way I’d come.

There was absolutely no one out there on the track….not even a sign of anyone having passed with in a week.  I was absolutely focused on the perfect line, conscious of weight shifting, powering up in the sand and slowing down in rocks,..it was complete synergy between myself, the motorcycle, and the track…and it was absolute bliss…complete zen.

http://www.vimeo.com/11013215

I pushed over 100 kilometers further than we had on the previous run and I never dropped the bike or had a single incident all the way down the Gunbarrel. That’s the power of a good riding day (having your head in the game while on two wheels.)

I had the water holes logged into my GPS, so if I had one close to my route I’d turn off, and reupp on fluids.  I’d also strip off my undershirt, ran it under the pump, then put it back on under my riding jacket to keep me cool.  Even under the jacket,..it would dry out in about 20 min.  It was hot,.. but it was doable.  I was actually quiet lucky with the weather,..given the season, it could have been over 110F.

Even though I had a few hours of daylight left,..there was a long stretch ahead between watering holes and I prefer to camp near water. So I called it a day and rolled to the nearest water bore and made camp for the night.

It was a good feeling, the track was everything I’d hopped for, and the bike was performing flawlessly.  At this point in the tour I was still having some issues with my ankle swelling up,..especially after a long day up on the pegs.  So as soon as I got off the bike I rubbed in some that bush medicine and took a snooze in the shade of my bike with my foot propped up on the helmet. After 20 min of elevating the ankle, the swelling would be down and I’d be set’n up camp.

I cant say I’ve seen any sunsets in the outback that were anything less than spectacular,..but this one really topped it off.    What a way to end an amazing day….felt like a real privilege to be alive!

The second day of riding was a great deal easier….it was probably a combination of the track getting easier, the confidence of knowing I was closer to Carnegie and my riding

technique adapting to the terrain.  My time riding dirt in WA definitely schooled me.

this car failed the WA dirt school

The track spilled out on a flood plain, where for the first time I noticed a substantial amount of wildlife.

All sorts of cool critters poked their heads out along the track.  Graceful bush turkeys glided off into the brush,..emus and kangaroos raced alongside the road, and a I caught site of a dingo as it darted across the road in front of me.  And I’m a big fan of the camels. Imported to Australia from Afghanistan in the 1800s,..they’ve since gone feral and  now thrive in the Australian outback.  I’ve been told that Australian camels are now being exported back to Asia to improve middle eastern herds. (this is what I was told,..I didnt actually verify  this) And they taste pretty good to.

I was so pleased to reach Carnegie station that I didn’t care about the fuel prices
($2.50 per liter).  Its expensive because of how remote the cattle station is,..having driven all the way out there, I can appreciate the labor that must have been involved in trucking out the fuel.  The station hands were very cool, letting me take a breather in the shade, puting some hot chow on for me, and reupping me on fluids.

I found the track between Carnegie station and Wiluna to be fully graded….a cake walk after the previous day.

The little town and aboriginal community of Wiluna was the end of the line for my Gunbarrel venture and I was eager to celebrate one of my new all time favorite rides.  There is one pub in town,..I parked my bike out back,..locked her down…and stepped into the pub for a brew and some feed.  Most of the aboriginal communities are dry,..but this was different,..it was the opposite,..most folks here were pretty lit.  I shouldered my way through a rough aboriginal crowd to get to the bar.  I was drinking shit beer..Emu Export I think it was called, but it was cold and as it slipped past my dusty lips, a cold beer had never tasted so good!

It was my first real exposure to aboriginals.  Some of them spoke English and were sober enough to offer conversation.

We took turns picking through songs on the jukebox. I was impressed with their knowledge and preference for classic American music. If Merle Haggard only knew!

The Pub manager was a very cool dude,..originally from Rhodesia.  Only in the middle of the outback do you meet a man that speaks Afrikans, Arabic, and Greek, and comes from an African country that doesn’t exist anymore.  Rhodesia is a sad but fascinating story, and to hear his tales was really something!  On top of great conversation and chance to learn,,..he was kind enough to give me a free room for the night, and a massive breakfast in the morning.

And then it was off to Newman….where I was to experience my first ever “stop in my tracks” electrical problem. (not bad for over 50,000 miles)

pic- the Gunbarrel Track

It wasn’t an early start that day,..never is.  Early starts are nice, but counter productive if your not packed right and feeling rushed.  By 0900 the pumps were opened and we topped off the bikes and extra fuel cans. I was a pushing 35 liters of fuel and 11 liters of water…allowing for what I calculated as a safe margin to get to Carnegie.

Randy and I sped out of Warburton with an enourmas anticipation for finally gaining access to this holy grail of dirt rides.  However,… from Warburton you’ve got to cruise a bit further down the Great Central,..then jump on the Heather Highway which spits you out onto the Gunbarrel Track.

The groomed dirt road turned into a gorgeous two wheel track…..that perfect riding trail I’d been searching for… its that kind of track where its just barely managed to maintain its place among the ever encroaching scrub and regular washouts, always on the verge of slipping away into the wilderness forever.

Its that tell tale sign of grass overrunning the trail, interrupted only by an old sandy wheel rut on the left and right.

I’m not sure why the Heather is termed a highway….maybe the folks who made it had a sense of humor or ….were perhaps self medicated… I guess the definition of a highway in OZ terms is a long shot from the US expressways.

Randy was so excited to dump his bike again, he couldn’t even wait until we get on the Gunbarrel. Coming down a washout he got walled out in a crevase and came off.  I raced back to assist and talk some trash, but as I was turning the bike around in the scrub off the trail I dumped my bike.  There we were, not even on the gunbarrel yet and both bikes were down…what a crack team we made! Fortunately there was no one within 50 miles to witness our floundering, so as the only witnesses we can make up whatever story we want. Randy and I are still working out the details of how we blasted through the Heather Highway sand traps with one hand on a hip the other puffing cooling on a cigarette.  (I’ve learned over time in Western Australia, that in an outback pub,…a story isn’t worth its spit,..unless its supported with some serious lies…creativity is far more critical than the facts when the booze is flowing)

I might make it sound bad, but it was actually heaps of fun.  This is what I’d come to Australia for.

A long way from that hospital room, I’d finally made it at last onto the Gunbarrel.  Actually traversing the route was the next stage.

Still not competent in riding with a partner, I arrived around a corner to close to Randy and let off the throttle in sandy section.  While trying to regain momentum and direction I managed bump my front wheel completely off the trail and tip the bike over on a berm.  In my desperation to right the bike before Randy could come back and give me hard time and I forgot to pop out the kick stand before I lifted her up,.. so up she went…and over she went into a tree….just in time for Randy to arrive and laugh his ass off.  Even I couldn’t help but laugh at this ridiculous scene.  It looked my bike was trying to mate with a tree.   I grudgingly gave up my camera for some glory photos that I’m sure a posted all over Randy’s website.(skillride.com)

Back on track I pulled more air out of my tires…now running 10psi on the front and 15 on the rear…this was the magic combo for me.  Even as the track grew sandier the heavy GS was cutting through like a dream.  It was now Randy’s chance for stardome as he ran out of steam in the sand from paddling and started to consecutively drop his bike,  not to worry, I was always there with a camera!

It was now pretty hot and the novelty of getoffs was being replaced by concern,…both of us were a bit wore out and there was no relief from the sun anywhere.  I was walking back (it was easier to walk, then turn the bike around in the sand) to help Randy when I found him pretty skunked out.  After we righted his bike Randy took a break in the shade of his bike, I went ahead and dropped his air pressure way down.  There’s pros and cons to this,..but in the sand its your only hope,..and we were in trouble if we didn’t start to put some miles in towards the next watering hole.

With both our tyres running low pressure, we pushed on with out incident for 20k to the next watering hole.  Both of us were pretty tired.  My bad ankle was swollen up like balloon and hard to walk on.  At this point taking pictures was not really a priority, but I SO wish I had.  There we were,… way out in the middle of nowhere, both of us were laying on the side of road next to our bikes.  My foot was propped up on my helmet and I was laying back taking in the nature of situation as I sipped on the nasty lime ridden well water.

We were moving to slow.  It was big miles to Carnegie and we had only enough food for a few days.  There was a high chance of failure and very real consequences if we didn’t pick up the pace.  Randy was not wearing dirt boots,..which seriously upped his chances for a broken ankle, especially considering the number drops we were taking.  So it was an easy call when Randy,..while emptying his fuel can into his tank,..proclaimed he was burning to much fuel.  His KTM was blowing through a ridiculous amount of fuel…I don’t know why or how,..but he figured he did not have enough fuel left to get to Carnegie. Obviously I wasn’t going to leave Randy in the middle hells’ bake house,  there was only one option left, make camp, then return a 160km back the way we came.

Again, it sounds kinda like a dire scenario,…having put such a long hard day in just to back off on our goal and return to Warburton with our tails between our legs.  But it wasn’t like that at all. First off, we both felt a feeling of accomplishment in having pushed these big bikes through some tough terrain, to arrive way out in the middle of the outback at a very cool campsite.  We were definitely off the grid….you don’t find this sort of experience listed in the Lonely Planet Guide book to Australia.  It was good to be there and both of us were in a position to appreciate out situation.  And I had no intention of letting the Gunbarrel out my sights,…this had merely turned into a productive reconnaissance.

The ride out went exceptionally well,… just one getoff, one flat tire.

Although unnecessary, Randy was super cool in paying for a room that night at the roadhouse, and hooking me up with one of his quick dry tee shirts I’d been eyeballing for a week. (I like to think I look better in it than he does any way

We had by now befriended the road house workers, and campers in the area, so there was lots of explaining to do when we got back.  Randy and I took turns telling stories about each others getoffs. Goaded on by good company and free icecream bars,..both Randy and I would explain the crashes and in good humor trying to make the other rider look like bigger jack ass.  Much to my remorse,..the picture of my bike melded with a tree seemed be the primary source of humor that evening.

We both had some work to do  on the bikes, and our patio was converted into an impromptu bike shop.  A local dude threw on a patch for Randy, and I spent some time fiddling with my suspension, which was feeling dangerously soft.

Randy had had enough of the Gunbarrel experience and was going to stick to the great central to make his way out.  With genuine concern, Randy attempted to talk me out of making a solo run to Carnegie,…almost swaying me with his offer to party at the first bar we hit upon exiting the great central. (we’d been dry for some time as alcohol is forbidden in the aboriginal areas).  Realizing I would not be deterred, he agreed to watch my spot tracker and monitor my progress so as to alert the authorities if I didn’t turn up.

A good pic of Randy the Maverick and I back in Colombia.  He’s currently back in Canada refitting his bike with long range fuel tanks and higher load carrying capacity..for our future endeavors….Africa?

We shook hands and talked of future plans to link up again down the road wherever that may be. I can say with confidence that we will be rocking down some foreign road on another continent at some point.

I set off again for the Gunbarrel, leaving the road house in plume of dust….thrilled to get another crack at her..but with a little bit of doubt in the back of my mind, knowing that

there wouldn’t be a lot of room for mistakes while run’n this track on my own.

Just west of Uluru the pavement ends and the fun begins.

Over a month ago, back in the comfort of Ian’s house in Brisbane I had made the assumption that the Great Central Highway was essentially a super highway of regularly graded dirt road. I expected a smooth-as-tarmac dirt run to Warakurna. Confidence is always beaming in the planning stage, where bold claims compliment cold beer like salted nuts.

It wasn’t until I met up with Bill in Cobar that I began to understand that the word “highway” in Australian lingo, exists primarily to lure tourist into places like Wolf Creek. (reference the timeless Aussie movie “Wolf Creek”)

Bill explained to me that while some sections of the Great Central are excellent, at any point you can find yourself in bulldust holes rising over your cylinder heads.  Essentially this fine talcum powder like dust called bulldust, conceals all sorts of surprises underneath.  I’ve come across two ADVriders that had experienced spectacular get offs on the Great Central,..one requiring air medivac and another parting  his bike out on the road over a hundred meter stretch.  Armed with a new respect for the Great Central I approached with the utmost care.

Taking heed to a good call by Randy, we stopped at nearby ranger/police station and checked in.  The friendly officer just gave us a warning on the camels,..told us to zip our tents at night, keep the food away from the dingos,..and if we ran into trouble..flag down one of the three cars that might pass each day.

The first 5 kilometers involved serious fishtailing through some unearthly mixture of bulldust and sand.  I recall pulling up to Randy and saying,…”its gonna be looooong day!”   Just as Bill had warned me, the Olgas to Docker River section of the Great Central highway proved to be the most difficult.  I was up on my pegs for the entire day of riding,…leaning back and powering through the soft mess, then coming out onto the hard pack and leaning forward trying to spot the next sand patch.  Most of it wasn’t to bad for us,..but that’s why it was so deceptive. Speeding up to race down the hard pack puts you in an awkward position when the road suddenly turns to shit.  At least that slight change in dirt color gives you a heads up and you know you’d better be weighting the pegs and ready to power out if you sink in.

Aside from a few doubtfull moments and last minute saves, the GS handled like a dream.  In addition to a great machine, I owe credit to Bill.  His ten minute brief back in Cobar on the road and how to ride it were worth gold when it came to riding through bull dust right side up.

Every one had warned us NOT to camp near aboriginal settlements.  These words were ringing in my head as we eyeballed a potential campsite just outside Docker River.  Randy’s KTM was sucking fuel,..and the locals said he’d have to wait until morning to top off.  Aside from fuel issues, Randy was dealing with the realization that his aspirations to ride the globe with out dumping his bike had just been crushed a few kilometers back.  Not to stand on my pillar,…I’ve lost count of how many get offs I’ve had since leaving home.  If the crash bars were for show…I’d have chromed them…and put pink streamers on my handlebar ends

We pushed just out of sight of the town and set up camp.  As much as I bitched to Randy about camping near Docker River,..it was a beautiful campsite.

In direct challenge of my brilliant pancake theory of Australia, a series of significant ridges rose to the north and south of camp.  The setting sun poured through the valley casting golden rays between the gum trees and over the fields of spinefex.  While absorbing the natural beauty of it all, I could almost forget that I’d only survive about a day out here with out my modern conveniences.

I pitched a tent, jumped in and waited for the sun to set and provide relief from the flys.  Randy provided quality fodder for follow on jokes by sitting on the side of the road for an hour hoping to catch some one with petrol…which was hilariously unsuccessful,  as most of all 3 vehicles that pass Docker River each day are trucks running diesel.  Both Randy and I can appreciate a good joke ..and the day’s accumulation of events provided hours of snide comments, good humored jokes, and overall quality campfire entertainment.  We had both realized at this point that we had very different touring styles….but we both have a sense of humor, and our differences made things far more entertaining. There’s never a dull moment when your riding with the Maverick.

The following morning Randy had a change of heart on the fuel and gambled he could make it to Warrakurna.  Good freshly graded road landed us at the next fuel station with ease.

Our planned entry point for the gunbarrel highway was just a few kilometers away, and I was beaming with excitement.  I don’t know when I became so fascinated with this outback track, but it had become a sort of obsession after my accident in Queensland 5 months ago.  Second( in my opinion) only to the epic Canning Stock Route, the Gunbarrel track is a real deal(fair dinkum in ozy terms) remote long distance 4wheel drive track. Pushing my tread over it would be a sort of realization that I’d overcome the trial of the accident and come full circle back to what I love,..adventure touring on a motorcycle.

So imagine my disappointment as I stared through my goggles at a newly staged sign that very clearly forbade entry to the track.   Disappointed, but not deterred, we jumped back onto the Great Central and continued to Warburton…where we could find another access point to the Gunbarrel.   (later, I learned that this sign was erected by aboriginals to reduce non local access to the region.  Apparently there are no legal ramifications to bypassing the sign. (but don’t blame me if you end up hanging upside down over a campfire (that’s a joke)

Luck turned against us again as we arrived in Warburton to find the Petrol station closed for the day.  The road house was out of operation until the following morning due to a holiday,… although when I asked around,..no one was really sure what holiday it was…but they all agreed that it was definitely a holiday…and unlocking the fuel pump would seriously threaten the festivities.

I had fully expected to be neck deep into the Gunbarrel by then, and I was trying not so show my disappointment. I much prefer bush camping to camping in communities.  You may have the luxery of showers and facilities, but your kit is at serious risk from being pilfered by the indigenous folks. In this town we had to put the bikes in a locked shed to prevent any wayward locals from busting into the tank and stealing the fuel for huffing purposes.  All along the great central I noticed the petrol station had metal cages over the pumps.

If you wanted fuel,.. the attendant came out personally with a key.  Chromming,..or getting high off sniffing fuel is a serious issue among the indigenous groups.  Its such huge problem that in some regions the roadhouses only offer Opal. (Opal is gasoline that’s been chemically engineered to prevent anyone getting a buzz off the fumes.)

The sort of let down nature of my situation changed abruptly as I spent a very pleasant evening chatting with a couple camped nearby.  They had arrived that day in a convoy of land rovers with the task of living in Warburton for the next month and counseling legal offenders in aboriginal community. Noticing my swollen ankle propped up the bench, the lady produced a jar of suspicious looking green slime.  I’m pretty skeptical about miracle cures..but I didn’t have anything to lose.  As much as you may doubt this,..the aboriginal bush medicine immediately addressed the pain and swelling.  I was astounded at how effective it was.  She didn’t know what was in it,..but she guessed it was goanna (lizard) fat mixed with various herbs.  And to my enormous gratitude, ..she gave it to me, refusing any payment.

As I was bedding down that night, I could hear some Beach Boys lyrics wafting softly out of trailer window of one of the campers.  It seems so strange to hear familiar music so far from home.  That reminds me… I’ll never forget the irony of witnessing a land rover, packed with an aboriginals family,….all of which were happily jamming out to “Okie from Muskogee”.  Its amazing to witness songs and lyrics transcending cultures in the most unexpected ways.

I’ve still gotta pack the bike up and its already 3am,..so will post up on the Gunbarrel in few days.