The Longest Friday

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.

The vast majority of Australia boasts all the vertical variation of a pancake

…..and it almost seems that the slightest change in terrain warrants the immediate designation of a national park, which is superb because there are protected areas set aside for recreation use.  (in some areas, the North West Territories remind me of Texas…where vast tracks of land are privatized by cattle barons and therefore legally inaccessible to the public.)  Kings Canyon is one these bumps in the vast Australian pancake – The Australian pancake is a legitimate scientific geographical term(that I made up) describing the greater portion of Australia.

I had the pleasure of linking up with a Danish Dairy farmer making his way around Australia on a motorbike.

Bernhard from Denmark

Our shared appreciation for the outdoors convinced us to spend a half day hiking in the Kings Canyon.

Cool rain drizzled down on us through out the hike,..but the canyon was still hot enough to lure me into those rare outback oasis.

Staying true to his wheels, Randy hunkered down with his bike at the nearest roadhouse.  By the time I arrived at the station I was in dire need of a cup of joe and some feed.  As he’d been there waiting for hours already,..he set of for Uluru.  That’s the way with bikers like us.  While you never leave a buddy hanging in tight spot,..if you want to go,…you go,..and make plans to link up down the road….nothing should interfere with your individual freedom and personal riding style.

Uluru is a little town located just outside Ayers Rock.  Its exists to serve the loads of tourist that make the long trip out to see the big rock.  Everything is uber expensive,…but I guess that’s what keeps the place protected and maintained.

Ayers rock is a big deal,…and I was itching to see it.  I was hungry and tired after the drive out,…but just had to go out to take a gander.  I put off setting up camp and shot out towards the national park.  I paid up my 25 bucks at the gate and rode in on an immaculate road that gently twisted through the dunes and over the low lying hills.  It just felt good to be there,..it was evening,…perfect temperature….the low angle of the sun cast a beautiful golden glow over the landscape, and recent rains had replaced the dusty breeze with a pungent and refreshing scent of sage and spinnifex.

I’ve had the privilege and good fortune to visit some the worlds biggest tourist attractions.  Most of these attractions looked far more extravagant in photo graphs and brochures,..than in real life, so I actually wasn’t expecting a big deal with Ayers Rock.

But,..as it rose up in front of me out of the outback scrub…I was stunned.

It was a way bigger deal than I’d imagined. No photo I’ve seen has done it justice.  Maybe it was the timing and circumstances,..by myself,..sun setting,..perfectly beautiful evening,..on a motorbike,..I don’t know exactly why,..but Ayers rock blew me away.   Its absolutely spectacular.

this photo doesn't do it justice,..the rock is much bigger than it looks

After stopping to snap some photos,..I was back on the road to get in close to the big rock.  My hunger, thirst and fatigue from riding all day was forgotten as I was revived by the glory of this awesome site.  The road continues to wind its way in a complete loop around the Rock.  I was the only one on the road and I screamed around it with child like bliss… again, and again,..and again,..until it got dark.

The following morning was a very different experience.  It was still pretty cool, but the crowds were there.  Randy and I hung with a tour guide and a full flock of tourist for about 20 minutes…then buggered off.  Running around the world free as can be on motorbikes..has spoiled us…leaving us with little tolerance for crowds.

couldn't help but capture this image with my camera

I would title this into the red hot center,..but its been pouring for days.  That’s POURING not raining.  The dry river bed (and transient camp for aboriginals) is currently suitable for white water rafting.  Its not the rainy season,..just weird weather.

The locals are loving it,..aside from discovering leaks in their roofs(and not caring cus its not going to rain like this for another 80 years),..the rain has cooled down the air temperature and graced the usual parched red land with greenery.

Good grazing land stretches out along the creeks in pastures and sprawls beneath extraterrestrial looking pines and gum trees.

Alice was a sort of hallmark for my Australia tour,..I’d heard about it since I was kid and it felt great to have finally arrived to see if first hand.  My first impressions were perfect.  By chance I’d wandered into the outback styled bar of Bojangles.  A historic pub decked with memorabilia of a wild and turbulent past….loads of guns, swords,..gator skins,..tributes to Ned Kelly(Aussie Outlaw)…line the walls and hang precariously from the ceiling. They even had a skeleton sitting atop an ancient motorcycle with a live python twisting through the rusty rig.  The skeleton is wearing a metal chastity belt. I didn’t think there actually was such a thing,..and I didn’t expect to see one displayed by a grinning skeleton on a motorcycle providing habitat for a live python in an Alice outback pub.  Not unlike some Alaskan towns,..there’s a feeling of frontier permeating the atmosphere.  Lots of strange folks, with even stranger stories.  I spent a few hours in the pub having a yarn with some truckers over various cold but mediocre beers and a whopping Kangaroo steak.  After I probed with a few questions, I was resting assured that none of the truckers were hauling bulldozers,..so I didn’t have to rip one of the swords off the wall.

Another key point for me in Alice was linking up with Randy.  He’s another overlander working his way around the globe on a bike..but with a very cool twist. He’s your modern day Maverick,.. playing poker in each town with enough success to put gas in his tank and keep himself on the road.  Definitely the only guy I know doing that.  Back in Panama we’d met up and gone in on a Sail boat to get our selves and our bikes around the Darian.  Over several stomach wrenching days of rough seas to Colombia,..we’d gotten to know each other.  We never actually toured together, cus I was a biker with a paragliding and mountaineering problem…and was not making very good time as I rolled south.

Randy at the 24 hour laundromat,..thats open 24hrs……. except when its raining.

So it was with some degree of wonder that we both ended up in the same town on the other side of the world…in the desert during an epic rainstorm.   We agreed to team up for an attempt on the Gunbarrel track.  General consenses on the route was not favorable from those we’ve talked with,..so we are approaching with enough fuel to back off at any point.

Although an outstanding urban rider,… The Maverick’s poker life style has kept him out of the bush and in the casinos.  So we are breaking him in gently on bush camping, as we’ll be riding wilderness on the Gunbarrel.  He’s picked up a good tent, bed roll, extra fuel containers, ect and he’s squaring away his bush kit as we get closer to the route.  I’m hoping he swaps out those bungees for some rachet straps…we’ll see.

Alice was a spot to gear up,..although prices were astronomical…the gear was there.  My BestRest Pump had recently failed as well as all my attempts to repair it(warranties aren’t much help when you  consider shipping costs overseas).  So its back to the ghetto slime pump,..which works just as well anyway.  My nice primaloft sleeping matt is blown out as well.  20 minutes in a river trying to find the holes and squeezing out a full tube of seam seal didn’t solve the problem…so its back to the 15$ blue foam….some times its good to be forced back to basics.  Since I’m rigged for it, and comfortable hauling a big load with that solid 1150 motor,..I’m the mothership for this trip,..carrying the majority of food, fuel, water, cooking equipment, spares, ect.

We are working our way towards the Gunbarrel via Kings Canyon and Ayers Rock.  The next few days will give us time to asses our kit and our capability on these dirt roads in regards to heavy rains.  Our first 100k of dirt was fanstastic.  The KTM dealer in Alice told us to stay clear(best intentions for tourists,..I’d say the same thing), but we went anyways and it was a blast.   The rain helped keep the dust down and the mud was a breeze compared to that nasty stuff seeping out of the South American Jungles.  However, this was just one dirt road, and we can’t fully judge whats ahead by a mere 100k.

The bush camping was top notch.  The flys were horrid as usual,..but we’ve got a system in place to deal with them.

Anytime you stop for more than a few minutes during the day…the head net goes on.   At dusk the solar charged flies back off and we can remove the head nets, cook up some feed, and enjoy the sunset.

Massive down pours arrived a little after midnight, slamming against my tent with such force I had to resort to earplugs to get back to sleep.  Its times like this when your glad you’ve got a high quality shelter over your head.  (Thanks Ian for helping pick out the Aussie made bombshelter of a tent)

We pitched our tents this evening at Kings Canyon Resort.  It’s an impressive lodging and camping resort just outside Kings Canyon.    Nothing beats bushcamping for a scenic campsite,..but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the pool  and hot shower,… and Randy treated me to a 7 dollar glass of beer….prices are up out here.

It was high time to head down from the cool weather refuge of the mountains and embrace the heat desert….Australia is after all mostly arid landscapes… I’m think’n to see it,.. you’ve got to suck it up and step into the oven.    I was heading for Alice Springs, via Cobar, Brocken hill and Port Augustus.  My contacts from the Sydney rally extended as far out as Cobar,..where one of Perry’s buddy’s put me up for the night.  It was classic Aussie hospitality with endless barbecued steads and some of the best scalloped potatoes I’d ever laid into to.  My morning routine had me going over the bike, checking for any issues before I stepped off. I traced some residue to a severed oil line leading off my rear shock preload.  Over the last week since the rebuild, I’d managed to not see an oil line making contact with the rear tire…that one’s definitely on me..bugger.  So I was mobile,..but had no shock preload…meaning I was not offroad capable until I got her fixed.  As the shock is a sealed unit,..it had to be mailed off to the nearest shock expert.  In an incredible gesture of kindness, Bill dropped the shock off his very own and beloved GSA and swapped out with me. He was either doing me a huge favor…or desperate to get me out of his house J..  Thanks very much Bill for letting me pull parts of you bike..,..I’m in your debt.

With Bill’s shock installed, I rolled west for Broken hill.  Just outside Broken Hill, is the one horse town of Silverton…..the filming location for Mad Max.  the perfect setting for a lone Aussie Cop (mel Gibson) to single handedly take on the post  apocalyptic world of evil!  Any man with an ounce of motor loving testosterone…loves this movie! …or series I should say…if you haven’t seen the mad max series…stop reading this immediately and go watch all three Mad Max movies!

Silverton,..the filming location,..is a historic mining town,…with about five old buildings…the pub being the one showing any sign of life.  Turning down a dirt street(main street) I knew what I was looking for,…and there it was parked outside the old Silverton bar…The Mad Max interceptor!   Booyah!!

It was a ghost town until about eight oclock when loads of folks emerged from the country side to grab a cold brew in the bar.  Silverton’s lonely bar way out in the middle of the desert was suddenly a happening place.

I was sitting out front on my motorcycle ….inquiring from the locals where I might track down some of the local emus.  Emus, like Ostriches and Qasuaries(sp) are just another bit of Aussie wildlife that baffles my imagination.   While a local old timer gave me directions, a hairly look’n wasp the size of small bird landed on my shoulder.  It wasn’t going to get through my riding armor (BMW does special RD to protect its riders against Aussie nasties), but its close proximity to my exposed ear made me feel a bit vulnerable.  I gave it a quick flick and sent it flying to the dust beside my tire.  I looked over at the local old timer and inquired on the name of the insect. He just shook his head “never seen one of them things around here,..and spit on it,..then crushed it under his boot heel before I could snap a photo of the anomaly. That says to me you could probably live here all your life and still see no end of weird things that might show up perched on shoulder.

As the sun was setting I was off into the desert about 6 miles out of Silverton.

I’d got caught up in the excitement of seeing two emus way off in the desert,..and I’d broken away from the dirt track was riding cross country across the hard desert floor.  I wasn’t even coming close to catching up to the birds as they blasted over the desert terrain like hover crafts.

I pulled off for the night among some sage brush.  It was a georgous campsite,

…but it didn’t take long for the massive swarms of flies to locate my camp. I rushed to set up my tent and the retreated from the buzzing black clouds.  Its enough to drive you crazy as the flies maneuver with extreme skill to enter any location that will mostly likely drive crazy..ie your eyeball…nose,..into your ear.  The primary use of my tent on this entire tour has been bug relief…and I’m going to be picking up head net ASAP.

As soon as the sun dipped below the horizon..the dreaded buzzing noise abated and flies wandered off to rest up and plan their morning assault.   I emerged under an incredible night sky.  It was dead silent,…with only an occasional gust of wind ruffling the fabric of tent.  I fired up the stove,..brewed up some noodles.   I was sitting their sipping on a cup of wine,..giving the noodles an occasional stir,..when a moth wandered in to close to the flame and dropped dead below the stove.  It took about 2 minutes for an army of ants to move in and haul off their new found booty.  Its amazing how much goes on right between your feet out here….needless to say my sandals aren’t getting much use….I like the security of the motocross boots.

I’ve been putting in lot of highway miles.  I’d rather be maximizing my time on the dirt,…but I’ve decided to allocate the majority of my time in Australia to far western province of Oz,.. appropriately titled…Western Australia.   So I’m running fast on the tarmac,..putting in long miles to get to Alice to start a new venture into the Gibson  desert.   The highways are’nt too bad.

coming into Port Augusta

Bad being the big superhighways of the US that are only good for making time hauling ass across the country.  These highways are fast,..but only two laned…gently contouring the terrain through a country with very little traffic.  Virtually every vehicle gives me a wave…with the exception of the Bikies.  These are the notorious biker gang types…like the Banditos or Hells Angels of the US but of Australia…the one percenter types…the guys who had trouble making friends back in grade school..ect.   I only saw these guys on the road between Sydney and Port Agusta.  Out on the real roads,..leading up to Alice I didn’t see any bikers.

One thing I didn’t expect from the hot red center was rain…and I got loads of it.  Massive storm clouds reared up in the distance and poured water out in spouts over the desert floor.

The storms have been rolling in during the evenings,…making for some dramatic evening storm displays.

I don’t know why,..but if there was a major storm cloud ahead of me,..the road would inevitably turn right for it.  The first storm was the biggest,..I’ll admit I was little nervous.  I pulled over to decide how to take it.  Lots of lightening,..major crashing thunder,..and I could see the rain in the distance like a wall approaching my position,..it was coming down so hard it was knocking dust and mud back up in to the air in front of it.

An unusually hot blast of air was moving ahead of the storm,..so uncomfortably warm I had to shut my face shield to keep my eyes from tearing.  I ultimately decided I’d rather minimize my time in the storm by pushing through to the other side,..and its always good to have some rubber tires under you if the lightening decides to touch down.

I put on my emergency flashers, switched mp3 player to ACDC and rolled back on the throttle. There was that super exhilarating split second as the front tire burst into the wall of water.  The pelting rain soaked through my riding suite, high winds battered me from different directions and I could smell and taste the red mud as it permeated the air.  It was a rich experience and the drastic change in temperature was huge relief.  Towards the end the storm I pulled over to watch a few Kangaroos drinking water from the pools in along road centerline.

Its easy to pull of on a dirt road,..out of sight and mind from the freeway and bush camp for the night.   After a hot day of riding I welcomed the evening rain in camp.  Rather than getting my clothes all wet, I stripped down to my boots and let the cold soothing drops cool me down.  Fortunately I was back enough into the bush to avoid surprising any locals (other than few kangaroos) as I strutted around camp wearing nothing but motorcross boots.

sorry- no pics here( thats on the “other” website

A few nights ago I woke up to a massive ant infestation in camp.  Not a huge deal,..they were little buggers and they didn’t really sting much when they bit,..but I had a dollar for every bite,..I’d be well on my way to new set of Ohlins.

view from camp

Every so often I find myself riding through massive tracts of private ranching land…the dreaded barb wire fence lining both sides of the road…preventing me from finding a good campsite.  As I passed into the Northern Territories I found myself in one of those endless fenced cattle stations.  While searching around for a break behind a rest stop I ran into a group of Germans, who’d simply made camp at the rest stop between picnic benches.  It was close to the road, but given only about 2 trucks would pass every few hours,..it was relatively quiet, and it was loads of fun to be camping with these folks.  We sat around swatting at flies and swapping stories.

Life’s got its highs and lows and Good times come and go,….and these my friends are definitely good times.

I’ve just pitched a tent on forested ridge deep in the Blue Mountains.

The higher altitude here allows a crisp cool breeze to blow through camp,..a relief from the steamy tropical lowland.  It’s a campers dream out here! Its merely a quick hop onto dirt road to find yourself in open range. When there’s no fences on the sides of road you know your in ADVrider territory,..where you can bound off into the woods as far as your knobby TKC80 tread will pull you.

My technique is to take a dirt road, then a scout out a dirt track…then pull a 100meters off into the bush out of site and mind.  Not that any one comes down these roads anyway….or cares. One thing Australians are endowed with is space…the first pillar of quality life!

Cozy’d up in my fleece liner, I’m lean’n up against a gum tree catching up on this ride report…not easy with the pleasant distraction of a gorgeous sunset slipping below the adjacent ridge, wallabies hoping around camp and those wild looking Aussie parrots pumping out a Jurassic park sound track.

It’s been a LONG time since I actually had a real ride report to post,..thats actual riding..not posts about shipping, or taking up space in a hospital, or sorting through medical bills as I swap out ice packs.  I’m back in saddle…and its never felt so damn good.  I’ve always tried to keep pushing through even when things got mean,..seemed irrational..and cost deeply in all aspects, but its always paid off, and this is no different.

Following a route traced out by Locky(the OZ pannier guy), I rolled west from Brisbane into the Great divide mountains.  It was a much different way than I’d originally set out on so many months ago on that freeway through Tawoomba.  This time I traded fast highways for country lanes with no centerline,..roads that twisted in and out of mountains, through lush rainforest and over swollen rivers on creaky old one way bridges.

Due to my usual late start (always tough to get your kit right after being off the road for a while), I’d finally made camp well after dark.  As I expected, locky had set me up right,…a quiet spot along a river off the old Grafton road, a ways out from Glenn Innes.

This camp had A LOT of critters.  Under the light of my headlamp I was pulling my tent off the bike of the bike when I heard a rustle in the woods.  Glancing up I was alarmed to see a furry white thing twice the size of dog bolting right at me.  Totally spooked, I jumped to the side putting the motorcycle between me and the incoming creature.  It stopped just on the other side of the bike about three meters away from me,..staring me down and huffing a bit. Sure,..it was furry and cute..but it had .,..crazy eyes!  The cute furry ones are the ones you got to look out for …like those drop bears they keep warning me about J.   Realizing it was just a wallaby, I relaxed a bit and enjoyed the company.  I think it was maybe the light that brought him in, cus I turned it off and he bounced away.

Everyone I meet seems to have their own opinion on the bizarre behavior of kangaroos and wallabies or wallaroos.  Some say light makes them do weird things.  I met a guy that says he’s had 3 kangaroos hit his motor home.  He didn’t hit them,..they actually charged across the road and slammed into the side of his caravan.

Of course anyone that drives in the country around here has an enourmas roobar in front to fend off the ,.”the mongrels”…as one trucker refers to them.

Speaking of roobars…my buddy Perry recommended I strap a KTM to the front of my bike as a sort of modified roobar (good knock on KTM! I get enough jokes from them on my BMW…ahhh the pic I could pull together with photoshop!

I also had the pleasure of 4 foot python in camp the other day, as well aas a plethora of cool lizards.

When I walked over to this lizard,..he flattened himself on the ground, lifted his head and stuck out bright blue tounge.

I had the company of two other campers in the area.  Both of which invited me over for a “cuppa”. I’ve got hand it to the Aussies,…they know about camping.  I’ve seen camping rigs that put our land yachts back home to shame.  None of those low riding super RVs..what they’ve got out here is something better. Its camping with comfort, but with out comprisming on 4×4 capability.  Were talking,.. pop out tents,..big tires, snorkels,..extended range fuel tanks..and of  course the roobar.

The old Grafton road is ADVrider territory,.. remote, no fences,…so many good river front camping I gave up logging them into my GPS.

Following Locky’s route description I turned off the middle of the old Grafton to continue a 97mile dirt route through the mountains.  The road was a blissful track tracing ridge lines and offering expansive views of the river valley below.

In a full day of riding I passed 3 other vehicles.  As for people,..only a few ranchers working their herds by horseback in valley pastures.

The sunlight was fading fast as I hit the tarmac and rolled for Moonan Flats.

I’d been clued in that Moonan flats was a meeting place for ADVriders heading out to the rally at Karua River.  It’s a one horse town off a dirt road.  Even though it was 1130 at night and pouring down rain,..finding these boys was easy.  About 30 two wheel adventure machines were parked around a pub that was clearly the happening place.  I hardly had my helmet off when I found myself with tasty brew in my hand and surrounded by the sort of folks you might expect to run across in Aussie bar in the middle of no where…we weren’t short on character in this pub.  It was hand shakes, laughs and a lot of good natured jokes on me (you gotta expect a certain number of jibs when you roll around covered in BMW patches)

It was great fun,..with great people.  It was well after midnight when last call came and we stumbled through the down pour out to the tents.  I gotta hand it to these guys,..every year they come out here, to ride through the down pour and hold a soppy wet camping rally.   It rains every year, and they know it,..but it doesn’t deter them a bit….cus they’r dedicated riders

I had whole slew of new riding buddies by the next day…and just pulled in with them as we rolled up over the Barrington Mountains to the  Karua River Rally.  Was good to be riding in a group for bit.  The paved roads are full of bikers,..but its not every day you get this many duel sport riders together in one spot.  These guys were good riders,..pulling hard and fast around those gravel bends.

I was truly impressed with extensive assortment of bikes.

It wasn’t some flashy bike week rally,…where your kit consists of entirely of a towl and spray bottle to polish your chrome every few hours.  This was more about riding whatever you got…what ever appeals to your sense of adventure.  There were old BMW Airheads,…rocket fast KTM dirtbikes,…Hondas, Kawasaki’s, sidecar outfits, many that I’d never seen before….there was even a diesel drink’n Einfield.   There were two ways in,..both were back woods dirt routes through the rainforest.

While riding the pass I pulled over to help out an older fellow on a R80 who’d just taken a flat.  I pulled out my plugs hoping for a quick puncture repair, but he’d bent his rim on rock in a bad way.  Never having had to deal with this on my spoked GS rim, I figured he was in trouble. But the guy just grabbed a big rock…hammered in the rim,..and we used my compressor to blow it up.  To my amazement we were back on the road in a few minutes.  Leave it to the R80 boys to show you how to keep it going with a little rock bashing.

I haven’t been to many rallies, but this one would be one my favorites.  I couldn’t walk twenty feet without being invited over to a campfire to swaps stories, meet other riders,..and tell lies over luke warm beer….”No shit…there I was” type stories..the best type.

check this moto trailer camping rig

Its hard to imagine a better place to meet riders and make contacts. Invites flowed like the booze. I was offered places to stay all over, which ultimately led me to Perry’s place in Sydney following the rally.

Perry is a legitimate ADVrider who both rides and builds bikes.

Only he could turn a Ducati Monster into trail bike (I’ve seen the pics).  I didn’t know it when I met him at Moonan Flats, but Perry doesn’t have legs.  An accident with a train as a child left him as a double amputee.  This guy has done more in life than most folks who’ve got all their limbs.  Truly an inspiration!  And he can barbecue a steak better than anyone I know! Thanks to Perry, his wife, and two wonderful kids,  I had a very rewarding experience in Sydney.

I spent a couple days riding various dirt routes through the Blue Mountains west of Sydney.

Aside from great rides, a big highlight for me was seeing a wombat (which no Australia experience would be complete without). OZ has a lot of nasty poisonous things,..but at least most of them are no match for my alpine star riding boots.

I’ve seen some wild look’n snakes,.,,but most of them crawl off the dirt road before I can swing back around and get a photo.  I was warned not to run over snakes.  Some guy out west ran over a king brown or something…. The thing got stuck on the undercarriage of the car…then survived long enough to get revenge at the next fuel station when the guy was refueling…he didn’t make it.  You only get stories like that out here.

Camping gives me that opportunity to witness what crawls around the woods out here.  As I was reaching for a my tea, my head lamp light reflected off two little eyes on a log next to me…..damn! they’ve got some big spiders out here,…never seen a spider with eyes big enough to reflect off my headlamp….I just tucked my pants into my riding boots,..dont need any 8 legged residences look’n for meal in my pants. If it comes any closer, I’m retreating to my tent.   I’ve also scored all sorts of new 6 legged stowaways on the bike.

I dont like leeches though,...nasty buggers!

They make good riding partners…never complain,…don’t weigh much,..always agree with me…and taste good when dipped in Nutella (okay…telling lies again…although inevitably something crunchy always ends up in my camp coffee).  Speaking of food,..check this out,..when you order a standard hamburger in Australia, you will find between the buns…a beef pady, lettuce, tomato,  pinapple, sugar beat, and a fried egg…..why…cus this is F*&*cking OZ…there’s no rules here!

Its no secret that one of the richest parts of traveling is meeting locals, being invited into their homes,..and getting a snapshot of their lives.  By chance I met up with Verity at a diner in Oberon.  Conversation eventually led to all my questions about local wildlife, and it turns out that she is running a sort of volunteer animal rescue at her home.  I was stoked to be invited to meet her collection of wallabies and wallaroos.

The wallabies, wallaroos, kangaroos..often end up as road kill cus they gravitate towards  the roads in search of the green grass that grows alongside( one theory)(the other being that they are just there waiting to ambush caravans)  So inevitably there is a lot of animal carnage on the roads.  Verriti has rescued several of  young from pouches of killed wallaby mothers.  Because she hand raises them,..they are super friendly…and absolutely love a good scratch on the chest.

As we went out back to have a look at her motorbikes, a big clidestale named Ben came around to check in on us.  I never thought such massive and powerful animal such as clidestale would be so social and friendly, I’d say it’s a credit to Verity’s skill with animals.

Her son Luke,…let me in on some his secret tad pole snaring tricks.

I’m now working out a  plan to head west towards Alice Springs with a few stops in between…its time to take the old girl to the desert.

you can always tell its my campsite due to the certain yard sale appearance.

An Tribute to Locky

Its been a pretty rough start for the Australia leg of my tour…but Locky turned things around for me and got me back on my feet…or wheels I should say.

Thanks to him I’ve got a motorcycle again.  He took me in, gave me room, full access to his shop, and ultimately helped me accomplish in 3 days,. what would have taken me weeks.  Locky dropped his current projects and spent his days with me tearing off the subframe, rewelding it, reinstalling it, fixing various components, fabricating parts, and attaching a new rear rack,…and installing a beautiful pair of tough-as-hell panniers.  (will give full report on these as I tour)

This guy is a super cool dude, brilliant with motorbikes… and I can not communicate in words the gratitude feel for the amount of time, effort and materials he freely invested in me.   Thank you Locky,…been real good knowing you!

Locky and his 1100gs (he’s not running his own panniers, because they are selling faster than he can keep a set long enough to mount to his own bike…thanks for putting another biker first…again)

Now that I’m a biker with bike again…its time to start turning the adventure touring back on.  The Kaurara river Rally is definitely on.  As long as I can keep at least one of Locky’s panniers between me and the grim reaper’s bulldozer,..I’ll make it there!  I hear its gonna rain loads.  I’m so thrilled to be back on a bike and camping after this whole recover ordeal,..that I couldn’t care less…rain,..sandstorms,..cyclones,, what ever. Hope to have the opportunity to meet some of you guys out that way.

After the rally I’m thinking about Sydney….since its there.  I’m not a big city guy,..but I figure I should see it.  (Brisbane was a pleasant surprise,..any place that has natural climbing walls in the middle of the city gets high marks in my book)

Following Sydney,,..I’m shoot’n for Alice.  Then….if its open..the gunbarrel.

Tim always clues me in on the best Australian intel

vid  comes from The Gruen Transfer episode 10. The section called “the pitch” where ad agencies come in to make funny ads.

Just received this map of Australia over email from an Aussie friend,..had to share!  Thanks Tim, only thing missing is the big rig with a D9 bulldozer on the back.