The Longest Friday

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)