Dave needs to drop his bike off in Perth for a service so he's up early, but I enjoy a late start. We're actually going different ways for two days while he entertains Kirsten. This means I no longer have the benefit of Dave's GPS and I'm relying solely on my map-reading skills. Oh crap.
Fortunately Perth is well sign-posted and I eventually find myself there. I'm staying in a hotel in the middle of the CBD and the traffic is overwhelming. After the past several weeks where I might pass half a dozen cars per hour, I'm finding myself gasping for air in Perth. I'm also frustrated by the maze of one way streets. I'm relieved when I eventually park at the hotel.
Dave jogs over from the BMW dealer - where does he get all his energy? - so we wander around the CBD. He's spotted a Da Vinci exhibition in a marquee at the local park and that puts a grin on my face. I studied engineering at university and Leonardo Da Vinci is possibly the most famous engineer of all time. The exhibition is brilliant. There are dozens of working wooden models constructed from his notes and drawings. Dave spots one model that works exactly like a constant-mesh gearbox. It's hard to believe all these ideas came from one man. And he did everything with such primitive materials! I can't imagine what Da Vinci might have accomplished if he'd lived in the Steam Age.
Dave has to go get ready for Kirsten so I'm left to my own devices. The CBD was bustling at lunchtime but it dies down pretty quickly at dusk. I've been told Subiaco is better at night so I wander over to the so-called Cappucino Strip. It doesn't disappoint. There are restaurants, bars, cinemas and theatres as far as the eye can see. I get myself into the right frame of mind to watch the latest Indiana Jones flick. As the credits roll I think to myself I needed more liquid preparation; what a silly movie.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Little Taste of Freedom
It's a sunny day and the luggage is safely locked away in a cabin, so Dave and I hoon around Fremantle on our suddenly nimble bikes. It's fantastic to lose the weight of the bags; the bikes handle so much better. I think for my next holiday I'll hire a roadie to drive my luggage around.
We stop in at the Fremantle Prison, one of the top attractions of Fremantle. We don hard hats, life vests, and start with a tour of the tunnels that are hidden 20 metres underneath the prison. The history of the tunnels is kind of boring although the tunnels themselves are nifty. Nineteenth century Fremantle had insufficient supplies of clean water. They discovered they'd built the prison above a natural aquifier, so they set their prisoners to work building an extensive array of tunnels to collect the water. We get to paddle canoes around in the waist deep water. To be accurate, Dave does all of the paddling while I make splashing noises and enjoy the free ride.
The second tour is above ground and we get to see the conditions the prisoners were forced to endure. I comment that the place reminds me of my primary school in Sydney; the bitumen "playground", the high stone walls, the depressing and utilitarian concrete corridors. Dave thinks I'm exaggerating but later the tour guide says exactly the same thing. The Australian government obviously modeled the public schools after the federal prisons. Says it all, really.
The tours take all day and it's soon dinner time. We stop for a beer in one of Fremantle's worst kept secrets; the Little Creatures Brewery. My impression, stepping through the front door, is like Charlie entering the Chocolate Factory. There are hundreds of people, pumping dance music, crazy trick lighting, and two-storey stainless steel vats of beer lurking in the shadows. The whole place has an industrial feel and it's jumping with activity. Pinch me, I must be dreaming. They serve the best food I've eaten so far on this trip, and also the best beer. What an awesome brewery.
We stop in at the Fremantle Prison, one of the top attractions of Fremantle. We don hard hats, life vests, and start with a tour of the tunnels that are hidden 20 metres underneath the prison. The history of the tunnels is kind of boring although the tunnels themselves are nifty. Nineteenth century Fremantle had insufficient supplies of clean water. They discovered they'd built the prison above a natural aquifier, so they set their prisoners to work building an extensive array of tunnels to collect the water. We get to paddle canoes around in the waist deep water. To be accurate, Dave does all of the paddling while I make splashing noises and enjoy the free ride.
The second tour is above ground and we get to see the conditions the prisoners were forced to endure. I comment that the place reminds me of my primary school in Sydney; the bitumen "playground", the high stone walls, the depressing and utilitarian concrete corridors. Dave thinks I'm exaggerating but later the tour guide says exactly the same thing. The Australian government obviously modeled the public schools after the federal prisons. Says it all, really.
The tours take all day and it's soon dinner time. We stop for a beer in one of Fremantle's worst kept secrets; the Little Creatures Brewery. My impression, stepping through the front door, is like Charlie entering the Chocolate Factory. There are hundreds of people, pumping dance music, crazy trick lighting, and two-storey stainless steel vats of beer lurking in the shadows. The whole place has an industrial feel and it's jumping with activity. Pinch me, I must be dreaming. They serve the best food I've eaten so far on this trip, and also the best beer. What an awesome brewery.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
The Long Walk
The tents are soaked this morning but at least the rain has eased. It's a late start because we're only going as far as Fremantle. The ride out of Margaret River is superb; the countryside is so green. Farm animals lazily munch away at grass. It's hard to believe only a week ago we were in the barren wasteland of the Nullarbor.
Dave wants to see another lighthouse and I'm cool with that, not because I care much about lighthouses but it means riding along the coastline. Unfortunately the ride is very short, much like the lighthouse. Located at Cape Naturaliste, it's only 19m high. It's still active so we get to see the lens spinning which is kind of impressive. We stand right beneath it and I get a real sense of the weight.
We travel onwards to Busselton to see the Busselton Jetty. It's an 1841 metre jetty and you can catch a lift down into an underwater aquarium at the end. This sounds great. Sadly the reality is kind of a letdown. The aquarium is closed because underwater visibility is poor. It takes an hour to walk to the end and back with a cold wind howling the whole time. It's an unpleasant experience and the view at the end didn't justify the effort.
The rest of the ride is on decent highways and it's not long before we're in Fremantle. It's late so we find a caravan park and call it a day.
Dave wants to see another lighthouse and I'm cool with that, not because I care much about lighthouses but it means riding along the coastline. Unfortunately the ride is very short, much like the lighthouse. Located at Cape Naturaliste, it's only 19m high. It's still active so we get to see the lens spinning which is kind of impressive. We stand right beneath it and I get a real sense of the weight.
We travel onwards to Busselton to see the Busselton Jetty. It's an 1841 metre jetty and you can catch a lift down into an underwater aquarium at the end. This sounds great. Sadly the reality is kind of a letdown. The aquarium is closed because underwater visibility is poor. It takes an hour to walk to the end and back with a cold wind howling the whole time. It's an unpleasant experience and the view at the end didn't justify the effort.
The rest of the ride is on decent highways and it's not long before we're in Fremantle. It's late so we find a caravan park and call it a day.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Hail To The Bus Driver
I awake to the patter of rain on wet fabric. I groggily poke my head out of the tent and I'm greeted by a moat. A good half inch of water surrounds the tent. Bloody hell, doesn't it ever stop?
Rather than waste the day moping around the campsite, Dave has booked us on a bus tour of the Margaret River wineries. I'm apprehensive because I've observed similar tours in other regions and what I saw looked dreadful. Tourists would silently exit a coach, the driver watching them like a prison warden. They would go through the motions of tasting wine, stare with disinterest at the scenery, silently get back onto the coach, and depart for the next nameless winery. There was a zombie like quality to their behaviour. I'm not looking forward to becoming one of the living dead.
My discomfort increases when the bus arrives. There is a young couple already seated who briefly look at us before returning to stare at the dismal weather. The next pickups are two girls who immediately retreat into their mobile phones. I can feel the fog of boredom descending already.
We reach the first winery and the guide begins his spiel. He is a dancing ball of energy. He cracks jokes, tells stories, describes the wines, gets everybody talking, and even has the whole bus singing along to cheesy 80s pop music. I was completely wrong; this is heaps of fun. That I'm slightly mashed might also be helping.
The tour takes us to four wineries, a cheese factory, and a chocolate factory. There is a "bush tucker" lunch in the middle although I don't think pesto and olive bread are authentic bush tucker. However I did confirm my suspicion that witchetty grubs have a disgusting texture and taste. The tour ends at a brewery where Dave demonstrates his talent to burp loudly after sculling a pint, much to the amusement of the undergrad girls who joined the tour at the first winery.
Rather than waste the day moping around the campsite, Dave has booked us on a bus tour of the Margaret River wineries. I'm apprehensive because I've observed similar tours in other regions and what I saw looked dreadful. Tourists would silently exit a coach, the driver watching them like a prison warden. They would go through the motions of tasting wine, stare with disinterest at the scenery, silently get back onto the coach, and depart for the next nameless winery. There was a zombie like quality to their behaviour. I'm not looking forward to becoming one of the living dead.
My discomfort increases when the bus arrives. There is a young couple already seated who briefly look at us before returning to stare at the dismal weather. The next pickups are two girls who immediately retreat into their mobile phones. I can feel the fog of boredom descending already.
We reach the first winery and the guide begins his spiel. He is a dancing ball of energy. He cracks jokes, tells stories, describes the wines, gets everybody talking, and even has the whole bus singing along to cheesy 80s pop music. I was completely wrong; this is heaps of fun. That I'm slightly mashed might also be helping.
The tour takes us to four wineries, a cheese factory, and a chocolate factory. There is a "bush tucker" lunch in the middle although I don't think pesto and olive bread are authentic bush tucker. However I did confirm my suspicion that witchetty grubs have a disgusting texture and taste. The tour ends at a brewery where Dave demonstrates his talent to burp loudly after sculling a pint, much to the amusement of the undergrad girls who joined the tour at the first winery.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Go Climb A Tree
It's a great morning. The birds are chirping, the sun is shining, and the remainder of that fantastic winding road lies ahead. To think I could be stuck in some dreary office in Canberra instead of riding a bike in Western Australia. It doesn't bear thinking about.
We eventually reach Pemberton, home to the Gloucester fire-spotting tree. Rangers used to climb and sit in trees like this one to look for signs of bushfire. Now it's open to the thrill seeking public. Dozens of two foot metal rods have been driven into the trunk like pins into a pincushion. You climb the rods to a platform 61 metres above the forest floor. I have grave concerns about climbing the tree. I'm not afraid of heights but physical exercise scares the bajeezus out of me.
But I want to see the view from the top so I start climbing. With Dave right behind me shouting encouraging words such as "hurry up" and "we don't have all day", I eventually reach the topmost platform. The view is great so I soak the scenery in while listening to the drum solo that my heart is performing. Looking down it doesn't seem all that high. My tolerance for heights is probably better than most people.
I thought that would be enough but Dave hears about an even taller tree and he wants to climb that as well. The Bicentennial Tree reaches 71 metres above the forest floor and it's only a short detour. When we reach the tree it's obviously a harder climb; there's a resting platform halfway up and the rods are spaced less evenly. I consider making the ascent but my heart threatens to go on strike so I sit this one out.
We continue along the coast until we reach the southwestern tip of Australia at Cape Leeuwin. There is another lighthouse here - honestly it looks the same as the last one - but this one is special because it marks the point where the Indian and Southern oceans meet. The lighthouse is locked tight and it's not very interesting from the outside. The sea is putting on a decent show instead with huge waves crashing onto the rocks.
We're heading towards Margaret River to make camp when we spot a sign for the Jewel Caves. The last guided tour for the day begins in 10 minutes; the timing couldn't have been better. Dave has been spelunking before but I have no idea what to expect.
The descent into the cave is easy. The owners have blasted an entrance and installed stairs and lights. After climbing down approximately one million stairs I finally see the cave in all its glory. The sight is jaw dropping. The ceiling of the cave is completely covered in stalactite crystals. Gigantic tree roots emerge from the ceiling, curl down through the void, and then disappear into the floor. Bulbous crystals cover the walls and there are sheets of crystal like stained windows between surfaces. The crystals are in a natural state so they don't refract light into rainbows like polished stone. However the crystals do glow from within when light shines from behind. It's an alien world.
After an exhausting climb out of the cave - I thought the Gloucester tree was bad - it's getting late so we dash into Margaret River and erect the tents. It's going to rain again; I swear we are cursed.
We eventually reach Pemberton, home to the Gloucester fire-spotting tree. Rangers used to climb and sit in trees like this one to look for signs of bushfire. Now it's open to the thrill seeking public. Dozens of two foot metal rods have been driven into the trunk like pins into a pincushion. You climb the rods to a platform 61 metres above the forest floor. I have grave concerns about climbing the tree. I'm not afraid of heights but physical exercise scares the bajeezus out of me.
But I want to see the view from the top so I start climbing. With Dave right behind me shouting encouraging words such as "hurry up" and "we don't have all day", I eventually reach the topmost platform. The view is great so I soak the scenery in while listening to the drum solo that my heart is performing. Looking down it doesn't seem all that high. My tolerance for heights is probably better than most people.
I thought that would be enough but Dave hears about an even taller tree and he wants to climb that as well. The Bicentennial Tree reaches 71 metres above the forest floor and it's only a short detour. When we reach the tree it's obviously a harder climb; there's a resting platform halfway up and the rods are spaced less evenly. I consider making the ascent but my heart threatens to go on strike so I sit this one out.
We continue along the coast until we reach the southwestern tip of Australia at Cape Leeuwin. There is another lighthouse here - honestly it looks the same as the last one - but this one is special because it marks the point where the Indian and Southern oceans meet. The lighthouse is locked tight and it's not very interesting from the outside. The sea is putting on a decent show instead with huge waves crashing onto the rocks.
We're heading towards Margaret River to make camp when we spot a sign for the Jewel Caves. The last guided tour for the day begins in 10 minutes; the timing couldn't have been better. Dave has been spelunking before but I have no idea what to expect.
The descent into the cave is easy. The owners have blasted an entrance and installed stairs and lights. After climbing down approximately one million stairs I finally see the cave in all its glory. The sight is jaw dropping. The ceiling of the cave is completely covered in stalactite crystals. Gigantic tree roots emerge from the ceiling, curl down through the void, and then disappear into the floor. Bulbous crystals cover the walls and there are sheets of crystal like stained windows between surfaces. The crystals are in a natural state so they don't refract light into rainbows like polished stone. However the crystals do glow from within when light shines from behind. It's an alien world.
After an exhausting climb out of the cave - I thought the Gloucester tree was bad - it's getting late so we dash into Margaret River and erect the tents. It's going to rain again; I swear we are cursed.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Sweet Mercy, Halelujah
Last night was horrendous. The wind roared up to gale force intensity and the campsite was drenched in rain. The walls of the cabin were bowing from the wind so badly that the bunk beds were shifting back and forth. I'm glad we eventually decided on the cabin instead of the tents; I reckon my tent would have been picked up by a gust and flung over the horizon.
In the morning the sky is overcast with dark clouds and it's still breezy but at least the rain has stopped. We climb up to one of the hilltop lookouts with a panoramic view of the town and harbour. There are several cargo ships in the harbour being guided in by tugs. The beachside resort we stayed at last night belies the true nature of this town as a major shipping port. They've done a good job of hiding that reality from the tourists.
We stop briefly at the abandoned fort facing the harbour. Built during WWII it served as defence for the town and as a command post for the ANZAC naval fleet. The original cannons and guns are still there although now only for display. Old material from the scuttled HMAS Perth is also on show. I'm not usually into war related exhibitions but I can't help to feel some empathy for the previous residents of Albany. The fear and uncertainty that ultimately created these war weapons must have been intensely demoralising.
We leave Albany to see the local coastal rock formations The Gap and The Bridge. The first formation is a natural funnel for waves and wind. We've chanced upon a perfect day to see this in action. The wind howls from the south, hits the rock funnel, and is then launched vertically out of the gap. Waves crashing into the gap are thrown tens of metres upwards by the concentrated wind. A precarious metal balcony hangs over the edge to let spectators get a better view. Of course this is also the best place to get drenched by the seaspray, as I quickly discover. National park rangers have a warped sense of humour.
Heading west from Albany I notice something really odd with my bike. It keeps leaning from side to side, twisting back and forth, almost as if.... sweet mercy... there are bends in this road! Dave has picked one of the roads from his Motorcycling Atlas. The ride is absolute magic. It winds through a forest and behind every inviting corner is another bend lying in wait. The camber and surface just begs the bike to go faster; sticking to the speed limit becomes a real struggle. After several weeks of straight roads disappearing into the horizon I was worried I'd forgotten how to turn corners but it's just like riding a bike, you never forget.
We stop briefly to tour the Valley of the Giants Tree Top Walk. This is similar to the Cape Otway Fly and I have the same reservations then as now with the concept. I don't consider it to be bushwalking when my feet never leave a man-made walkway. It seems clinical and tame. I entertain myself by shifting my weight on the suspended metal walkway until it's swaying from side to side by several feet. Dave gets seasick. I'm amused.
It's still early in the afternoon but we're now heading directly into the setting sun. Visibility is poor and I need to shield my eyes with my left hand. Rather than waste this brilliant piece of road we decide to call it a day in Walpole.
In the morning the sky is overcast with dark clouds and it's still breezy but at least the rain has stopped. We climb up to one of the hilltop lookouts with a panoramic view of the town and harbour. There are several cargo ships in the harbour being guided in by tugs. The beachside resort we stayed at last night belies the true nature of this town as a major shipping port. They've done a good job of hiding that reality from the tourists.
We stop briefly at the abandoned fort facing the harbour. Built during WWII it served as defence for the town and as a command post for the ANZAC naval fleet. The original cannons and guns are still there although now only for display. Old material from the scuttled HMAS Perth is also on show. I'm not usually into war related exhibitions but I can't help to feel some empathy for the previous residents of Albany. The fear and uncertainty that ultimately created these war weapons must have been intensely demoralising.
We leave Albany to see the local coastal rock formations The Gap and The Bridge. The first formation is a natural funnel for waves and wind. We've chanced upon a perfect day to see this in action. The wind howls from the south, hits the rock funnel, and is then launched vertically out of the gap. Waves crashing into the gap are thrown tens of metres upwards by the concentrated wind. A precarious metal balcony hangs over the edge to let spectators get a better view. Of course this is also the best place to get drenched by the seaspray, as I quickly discover. National park rangers have a warped sense of humour.
Heading west from Albany I notice something really odd with my bike. It keeps leaning from side to side, twisting back and forth, almost as if.... sweet mercy... there are bends in this road! Dave has picked one of the roads from his Motorcycling Atlas. The ride is absolute magic. It winds through a forest and behind every inviting corner is another bend lying in wait. The camber and surface just begs the bike to go faster; sticking to the speed limit becomes a real struggle. After several weeks of straight roads disappearing into the horizon I was worried I'd forgotten how to turn corners but it's just like riding a bike, you never forget.
We stop briefly to tour the Valley of the Giants Tree Top Walk. This is similar to the Cape Otway Fly and I have the same reservations then as now with the concept. I don't consider it to be bushwalking when my feet never leave a man-made walkway. It seems clinical and tame. I entertain myself by shifting my weight on the suspended metal walkway until it's swaying from side to side by several feet. Dave gets seasick. I'm amused.
It's still early in the afternoon but we're now heading directly into the setting sun. Visibility is poor and I need to shield my eyes with my left hand. Rather than waste this brilliant piece of road we decide to call it a day in Walpole.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Blown Away
It's a shame we have to leave Cape Le Grand so soon but we have a deadline to meet in Perth. I'll be coming back here one day for a longer stay. Although next time it will be in spring; it got a tad chilly in the tent overnight.
Today we're aiming for Albany and it's another long haul which means an early start. I ride cautiously out of the national park, well aware that roos will be hopping about at this time of morning. Once I'm out of the park and back onto the highway I ramp up to the speed limit of 110kph.
Ten minutes later a big kangaroo jumps directly in front off my bike. He comes from behind a row of trees and I don't see him until he is on the road. I wail on the front brake and the ABS kicks in. I don't even think to pull the clutch or use the rear brake. I'm barely able to stop myself going over the handlebars, the rubber bites that hard into the road. The roo hops away, blissfully unaware of the disaster that was so narrowly averted.
I'm still in one piece, full of adrenaline, and now riding a lot slower. I catch up to Dave near Esperance and we start the first leg. The wind is getting fierce and it's a northerly which means almost all crosswind. It's also really gusty. The bikes are frequently pushed off balance so it's a constant fight to keep them upright. Oncoming trucks throw solid walls of air at my chest. I lean heavily into the crosswind and the front wheel steers an erratic path beneath me.
I stop for lunch in Jerramungup. Dave arrives soon after and he is clearly unimpressed. He's not enjoying the gusty conditions at all. However we continue onto Albany. The wind gets even fiercer as we head further south and it's not until the last few kilometres that we get shelter thanks to the forests. Thorests.
The last few kilometres are a great ride through wine fields, green pastures, and aromatic forests. It's a real treat after the dull straights of the past week. We rent a cabin right on the beach and only just in time as it starts to pour down.
Today we're aiming for Albany and it's another long haul which means an early start. I ride cautiously out of the national park, well aware that roos will be hopping about at this time of morning. Once I'm out of the park and back onto the highway I ramp up to the speed limit of 110kph.
Ten minutes later a big kangaroo jumps directly in front off my bike. He comes from behind a row of trees and I don't see him until he is on the road. I wail on the front brake and the ABS kicks in. I don't even think to pull the clutch or use the rear brake. I'm barely able to stop myself going over the handlebars, the rubber bites that hard into the road. The roo hops away, blissfully unaware of the disaster that was so narrowly averted.
I'm still in one piece, full of adrenaline, and now riding a lot slower. I catch up to Dave near Esperance and we start the first leg. The wind is getting fierce and it's a northerly which means almost all crosswind. It's also really gusty. The bikes are frequently pushed off balance so it's a constant fight to keep them upright. Oncoming trucks throw solid walls of air at my chest. I lean heavily into the crosswind and the front wheel steers an erratic path beneath me.
I stop for lunch in Jerramungup. Dave arrives soon after and he is clearly unimpressed. He's not enjoying the gusty conditions at all. However we continue onto Albany. The wind gets even fiercer as we head further south and it's not until the last few kilometres that we get shelter thanks to the forests. Thorests.
The last few kilometres are a great ride through wine fields, green pastures, and aromatic forests. It's a real treat after the dull straights of the past week. We rent a cabin right on the beach and only just in time as it starts to pour down.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Zzzzzzz
Ahhh, now this is the life. I wake to the soothing sounds of waves on the shore. After a lazy breakfast I retire to the beach with a book. It's winter yet it's comfortably warm in the sun. I alternate between reading, snoozing, and just staring at the waves.
Dave appears just before lunch. He's already climbed to the top of Frenchman's Peak, gone exploring the caves, ridden his bike all over the Cape, and is about to start off on a hike along the coast. "Are you just going to read that book?" he asks. "Why travel all this way just to read?"
My kind of holiday seems so much more relaxing.
Dave appears just before lunch. He's already climbed to the top of Frenchman's Peak, gone exploring the caves, ridden his bike all over the Cape, and is about to start off on a hike along the coast. "Are you just going to read that book?" he asks. "Why travel all this way just to read?"
My kind of holiday seems so much more relaxing.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Cape Le Grand
We stayed a second night in Kalgoorlie and it's another sunny although freezing morning. The bikes have been a big hit with the miners. Everyone wants to chat with us about the odyssey. There's something "mysterious" about travelling on a bike. However all I can think this morning is that it's probably better to ride around Australia in spring. Brrrr.
The goal today is Esperance and it's a big haul. The roads are well maintained, smooth and fast, with gentle sweeping bends. It's not an entertaining ride but it is exactly the right sort of road for eating up the kilometres. The bike is simply humming; there's no better way to describe it. There's not much to see other than scraggly bush. I relieve the tedium by singing loudly into my helmet.
We reach Esperance just before 2pm and after refuelling both ourselves and the bikes we detour east to Cape Le Grand. This is a national park on the southern coast and describing it as spectacular doesn't do it justice. The ride into the park curves gently around towering stone peaks. Soon we are in sight of perfectly white sands and clear blue oceans. Our campsite at Lucky Bay is mere feet from the beach. We're the only people here and it's so quiet. It's the exact opposite of the dirty bustling pandemonium we experienced just this morning in Kalgoorlie.
The goal today is Esperance and it's a big haul. The roads are well maintained, smooth and fast, with gentle sweeping bends. It's not an entertaining ride but it is exactly the right sort of road for eating up the kilometres. The bike is simply humming; there's no better way to describe it. There's not much to see other than scraggly bush. I relieve the tedium by singing loudly into my helmet.
We reach Esperance just before 2pm and after refuelling both ourselves and the bikes we detour east to Cape Le Grand. This is a national park on the southern coast and describing it as spectacular doesn't do it justice. The ride into the park curves gently around towering stone peaks. Soon we are in sight of perfectly white sands and clear blue oceans. Our campsite at Lucky Bay is mere feet from the beach. We're the only people here and it's so quiet. It's the exact opposite of the dirty bustling pandemonium we experienced just this morning in Kalgoorlie.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Mine. Mine. Mine.
I wake up to a cold but sunny morning in Kalgoorlie. It's only 6:00am but the campsite is bustling with activity. We soon learn there's a housing shortage in Kalgoorlie with even the nastiest rundown rentals going around $800 per week. Many miners have instead opted to live in tents at the campsite. They're all up early and getting ready for today's twelve hour shift. It's a rough way to live.
My bike needs new oil and the only Suzuki mechanic in town has graciously squeezed me into his Saturday schedule as the first job of the day. What a champion. My bike is purring again, pleased with all the attention no doubt, and in no time we're off to see the Kalgoorlie Super Pit.
For those who have been living under a rock, Kalgoorlie is a famous gold mining town. Originally people found gold nuggets simply lying on the ground. When the surface was exhausted they started underground mines, excavating seams, and digging out gold ore. Eventually even that was exhausted and the miners had reached rock so hard that their tools became useless.
So they gave up on underground mining and turned the whole area into an open cut mine. It's a bloody huge hole in the ground; about 1000 feet deep and kilometres around the edges. The hard rock is regularly blasted into rubble by hundreds of diesel-fertilizer explosives and the ore is then scooped into gigantic trucks. Each truck carries 200 tonnes of ore which produces just a few ounces of gold.
I'm watching all this from the observation deck and I feel a bit like I'm a kid in the sandpit with Tonka toys. I know the trucks are gigantic - each wheel is bigger than my bike - but from up here they look so tiny I could almost reach out and grab one. There's an endless stream of trucks rolling up and down the sides of the pit. A digger fills each truck with only four scoops. Within seconds the truck is trundling back out of the pit. It's like watching gigantic mechanical ants. The allure of gold causes all this activity and expense. It's just mind boggling.
I'm fascinated but I can't stay here all day. We scoot off to tour an old underground mine. Squeezing into a mining elevator we descend about 30 metres underground. Our guide is a retired miner with a gift for the gab. He demos various mining tools and takes us around the warren of old tunnels. It's kind of creepy and very cramped. The mining tools are deafening; it would have been difficult working in these conditions every day. I feel immensely grateful for my cushy desk job.
Back on the surface we're approached by another tourist who wants to know just how cramped it is down in the underground mine. He explains he's very claustrophobic and enclosed spaces might cause panic attacks. How should I explain this to him... IT'S A MINE!!! Sheesh.
We ride outside Kalgoorlie to an old abandoned mining "ghost" town. I was hoping for some decent ruins but the best I can find is a pile of rubble where the schoolhouse used to stand. It's a bit of a disappointment. However I did get a chance to practice my offroad riding. Dave is still a whole lot better at it than I am. This is not boding well for when we head north.
My bike needs new oil and the only Suzuki mechanic in town has graciously squeezed me into his Saturday schedule as the first job of the day. What a champion. My bike is purring again, pleased with all the attention no doubt, and in no time we're off to see the Kalgoorlie Super Pit.
For those who have been living under a rock, Kalgoorlie is a famous gold mining town. Originally people found gold nuggets simply lying on the ground. When the surface was exhausted they started underground mines, excavating seams, and digging out gold ore. Eventually even that was exhausted and the miners had reached rock so hard that their tools became useless.
So they gave up on underground mining and turned the whole area into an open cut mine. It's a bloody huge hole in the ground; about 1000 feet deep and kilometres around the edges. The hard rock is regularly blasted into rubble by hundreds of diesel-fertilizer explosives and the ore is then scooped into gigantic trucks. Each truck carries 200 tonnes of ore which produces just a few ounces of gold.
I'm watching all this from the observation deck and I feel a bit like I'm a kid in the sandpit with Tonka toys. I know the trucks are gigantic - each wheel is bigger than my bike - but from up here they look so tiny I could almost reach out and grab one. There's an endless stream of trucks rolling up and down the sides of the pit. A digger fills each truck with only four scoops. Within seconds the truck is trundling back out of the pit. It's like watching gigantic mechanical ants. The allure of gold causes all this activity and expense. It's just mind boggling.
I'm fascinated but I can't stay here all day. We scoot off to tour an old underground mine. Squeezing into a mining elevator we descend about 30 metres underground. Our guide is a retired miner with a gift for the gab. He demos various mining tools and takes us around the warren of old tunnels. It's kind of creepy and very cramped. The mining tools are deafening; it would have been difficult working in these conditions every day. I feel immensely grateful for my cushy desk job.
Back on the surface we're approached by another tourist who wants to know just how cramped it is down in the underground mine. He explains he's very claustrophobic and enclosed spaces might cause panic attacks. How should I explain this to him... IT'S A MINE!!! Sheesh.
We ride outside Kalgoorlie to an old abandoned mining "ghost" town. I was hoping for some decent ruins but the best I can find is a pile of rubble where the schoolhouse used to stand. It's a bit of a disappointment. However I did get a chance to practice my offroad riding. Dave is still a whole lot better at it than I am. This is not boding well for when we head north.
Friday, June 20, 2008
All Things Must End
It was a freezing cold night and there's ice on the bikes in the morning. Not frost. Solid ice. We scrape the bikes clean and head off west. This will be the last day on the Nullarbor and I'm eager to get it over with.
But the Nullarbor has one last nasty surprise. Just outside Caiguna is a sign announcing the 90 Mile Straight. No bends for a hundred and fifty kilometres. When the highly anticipated turn arrives it's a cause for celebration and Dave stops to take a photo. It's a normal looking turn in a normal looking road but I appreciate the significance.
After a few more hours on dull roads we reach Norseman, an old mining town and a definitive end to the Nullarbor. The town doesn't have much to offer. Even the locals seem to agree and we get advice from an old codger to go see "the biggest hole in Kalgoorlie". At least I think that is what he said.
Kalgoorlie is a large active mining town however the central shopping area is only four blocks long and it's all on the one street. Yet despite the apparent simplicity we manage to get lost trying to find the visitors information centre. The locals point us in the right direction and after arming ourselves with brochures and supplies we stop for the night at a campsite.
But the Nullarbor has one last nasty surprise. Just outside Caiguna is a sign announcing the 90 Mile Straight. No bends for a hundred and fifty kilometres. When the highly anticipated turn arrives it's a cause for celebration and Dave stops to take a photo. It's a normal looking turn in a normal looking road but I appreciate the significance.
After a few more hours on dull roads we reach Norseman, an old mining town and a definitive end to the Nullarbor. The town doesn't have much to offer. Even the locals seem to agree and we get advice from an old codger to go see "the biggest hole in Kalgoorlie". At least I think that is what he said.
Kalgoorlie is a large active mining town however the central shopping area is only four blocks long and it's all on the one street. Yet despite the apparent simplicity we manage to get lost trying to find the visitors information centre. The locals point us in the right direction and after arming ourselves with brochures and supplies we stop for the night at a campsite.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Boring Across The Nullarbor
Over the next two days we're crossing the Nullarbor. It's a short backtrack to Ceduna then it's west to Penong. The ground becomes very flat with few obstacles to obscure the view of the horizon. There's a forecast for thunderstorms today. I find it hard to believe we're headed into one of the driest places on earth and it's going to rain. Just our luck.
Heading into Penong we witness an amazing spectacle. Towering directly over the town is an incredibly large thundercloud. It must reach at least ten thousand feet into the atmosphere and it's clearly dumping buckets onto Penong. By pure good fortune the rain eases just as we reach town so we refuel and get moving before it starts again. Maybe the rain gods are taking pity on us.
The trees begin to thin and soon I see a sign announcing the start of the Nullarbor. It isn't what I expected. I thought Nullarbor meant no trees however I see many trees and shrubs. They're actually quite densely packed. We are still very close to the southern coast and I guess there's a long (very long) distance yet to cover. I was simply hoping for something more dramatic.
As we pass the Head of Bight we stop at one of the few tourist centres on this stretch. It's a lookout on a section of cliffs where whales are frequently spotted. We are lucky enough to see three Southern Right Whales. They swim at a leisurely pace right past the lookout. The wind is fierce and bitterly cold so we don't stay for too long.
We spend the first night at the Nullarbor Roadhouse. It is expensive but we're not in a position to argue.
The next day is perfect weather. Despite ominous warnings from the gray nomads we aren't riding into gale strength headwinds. In fact there's a slight tailwind and the sky is clear blue. The roads are still very straight and there's not much to do except stave off boredom by counting roadkill.
As I'm passing number forty seven I notice another kangaroo standing near his unlucky friend. Much to my surprise the kangaroo leaps into the air and sprouts a pair of wings. It's actually an eagle and it's nearly as wide as the bike. I had no idea they got so gigantic. I guess they're very well fed along this stretch of road.
The sun is setting quickly and neither of us want to risk hitting a kangaroo at dusk, so we spend our second night on the Nullarbor at Caiguna.
Heading into Penong we witness an amazing spectacle. Towering directly over the town is an incredibly large thundercloud. It must reach at least ten thousand feet into the atmosphere and it's clearly dumping buckets onto Penong. By pure good fortune the rain eases just as we reach town so we refuel and get moving before it starts again. Maybe the rain gods are taking pity on us.
The trees begin to thin and soon I see a sign announcing the start of the Nullarbor. It isn't what I expected. I thought Nullarbor meant no trees however I see many trees and shrubs. They're actually quite densely packed. We are still very close to the southern coast and I guess there's a long (very long) distance yet to cover. I was simply hoping for something more dramatic.
As we pass the Head of Bight we stop at one of the few tourist centres on this stretch. It's a lookout on a section of cliffs where whales are frequently spotted. We are lucky enough to see three Southern Right Whales. They swim at a leisurely pace right past the lookout. The wind is fierce and bitterly cold so we don't stay for too long.
We spend the first night at the Nullarbor Roadhouse. It is expensive but we're not in a position to argue.
The next day is perfect weather. Despite ominous warnings from the gray nomads we aren't riding into gale strength headwinds. In fact there's a slight tailwind and the sky is clear blue. The roads are still very straight and there's not much to do except stave off boredom by counting roadkill.
As I'm passing number forty seven I notice another kangaroo standing near his unlucky friend. Much to my surprise the kangaroo leaps into the air and sprouts a pair of wings. It's actually an eagle and it's nearly as wide as the bike. I had no idea they got so gigantic. I guess they're very well fed along this stretch of road.
The sun is setting quickly and neither of us want to risk hitting a kangaroo at dusk, so we spend our second night on the Nullarbor at Caiguna.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Knock Knock
It's a fine day when we leave Adelaide. I was expecting the worst from the CBD traffic but it is easy going. This is a truly laid back city; even the drivers make room and take their time. However I'm dreading the mind numbing ride back to Port Augusta. It wasn't any fun the first time and I'm not looking forward to the repeat performance.
Two and a bit hours later, just outside Port Augusta, I get my first glimpse of what to expect once we head north. Across the horizon is a band of brown haze. At first I think it's smoke from a bushfire but it soon becomes obvious it's a dust storm. Strong winds tear across the drought stricken fields and throw dirt high into the air. Small tornadoes are visible near the highway, highlighted by the dust they carry. The dust whips around in organic shapes as the wind curls through trees.
This would all be spectacular if I wasn't in the middle of it. The dust gets inside my helmet and I feel grit between my teeth. The bike is buffeted by the wind which makes it an effort to stay in control. Oncoming vehicles keep appearing unexpectedly out of the gloom. At one point my visibility drops to a few tens of feet. I consider whether it would be best to keep going blind and hope I don't hit anything or to slow down and potentially be hit from behind. Fortunately before I can make a decision I'm through the worst and my visibility returns. The rest of the ride into Port Augusta is merely windy.
We stop briefly in Port Augusta for lunch then onwards to Iron Knob. This is an old mining town... have a guess what they mined. We pull into the petrol station to refuel. That's odd; the pump isn't working. We checkout the station house but the door is locked tight. It seems nobody is working at the petrol station today. Uh-oh, this isn't good.
I have enough fuel to reach Kimba, the next town west, but Dave will be about 30km short. Even getting back to the previous town might be pushing his luck. As we're sitting at the station, pondering how the hell we got into this mess, the strangest thing happens.
This old bloke with a long gray beard, riding a brand new Triumph Rocket (a bloody big cruiser), matching Triumph leathers and Triumph helmet, pulls into the defunct petrol station. He leaps off the cruiser and pulls from his luggage a can of Red Bull and a jumbo sized pack of Nurofen Plus. He starts eating the pills, washing them down with swigs of Red Bull. He turns to us and says:
"Where you boys from? Seems there's no fuel here. You should have refueled in Port Augusta. Might try asking for help at the pub."
And just as quickly he's back on his bike and heading off west. It's a surreal experience. Like something out of Alice In Wonderland.
We don't have too many options so we try the pub, only to discover it's shut as well. We then cruise around the town looking for signs of life. There are plenty of emu but not so many humans. Dave eventually spots a husband and wife out in their front yard. They tell us the petrol station has been closed for years so everyone in town stockpiles their own fuel. They'd love to help us but they only have diesel.
What follows is the craziest doorknock appeal in history as we go from house to house, asking to buy fuel for our bikes. At the third house we get an early Christmas present from a bloke who could well have been Santa Claus. He has long white hair, a bushy white beard and a reasonably large belly. He sells us ten litres of unleaded petrol for a price we're very willing to pay and we're on our way again.
It is now a hard slog to reach Streaky Bay by nightfall but we manage somehow. As I go to sleep I vow to pickup an emergency fuel canister to strap on the bike.
Two and a bit hours later, just outside Port Augusta, I get my first glimpse of what to expect once we head north. Across the horizon is a band of brown haze. At first I think it's smoke from a bushfire but it soon becomes obvious it's a dust storm. Strong winds tear across the drought stricken fields and throw dirt high into the air. Small tornadoes are visible near the highway, highlighted by the dust they carry. The dust whips around in organic shapes as the wind curls through trees.
This would all be spectacular if I wasn't in the middle of it. The dust gets inside my helmet and I feel grit between my teeth. The bike is buffeted by the wind which makes it an effort to stay in control. Oncoming vehicles keep appearing unexpectedly out of the gloom. At one point my visibility drops to a few tens of feet. I consider whether it would be best to keep going blind and hope I don't hit anything or to slow down and potentially be hit from behind. Fortunately before I can make a decision I'm through the worst and my visibility returns. The rest of the ride into Port Augusta is merely windy.
We stop briefly in Port Augusta for lunch then onwards to Iron Knob. This is an old mining town... have a guess what they mined. We pull into the petrol station to refuel. That's odd; the pump isn't working. We checkout the station house but the door is locked tight. It seems nobody is working at the petrol station today. Uh-oh, this isn't good.
I have enough fuel to reach Kimba, the next town west, but Dave will be about 30km short. Even getting back to the previous town might be pushing his luck. As we're sitting at the station, pondering how the hell we got into this mess, the strangest thing happens.
This old bloke with a long gray beard, riding a brand new Triumph Rocket (a bloody big cruiser), matching Triumph leathers and Triumph helmet, pulls into the defunct petrol station. He leaps off the cruiser and pulls from his luggage a can of Red Bull and a jumbo sized pack of Nurofen Plus. He starts eating the pills, washing them down with swigs of Red Bull. He turns to us and says:
"Where you boys from? Seems there's no fuel here. You should have refueled in Port Augusta. Might try asking for help at the pub."
And just as quickly he's back on his bike and heading off west. It's a surreal experience. Like something out of Alice In Wonderland.
We don't have too many options so we try the pub, only to discover it's shut as well. We then cruise around the town looking for signs of life. There are plenty of emu but not so many humans. Dave eventually spots a husband and wife out in their front yard. They tell us the petrol station has been closed for years so everyone in town stockpiles their own fuel. They'd love to help us but they only have diesel.
What follows is the craziest doorknock appeal in history as we go from house to house, asking to buy fuel for our bikes. At the third house we get an early Christmas present from a bloke who could well have been Santa Claus. He has long white hair, a bushy white beard and a reasonably large belly. He sells us ten litres of unleaded petrol for a price we're very willing to pay and we're on our way again.
It is now a hard slog to reach Streaky Bay by nightfall but we manage somehow. As I go to sleep I vow to pickup an emergency fuel canister to strap on the bike.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Adelaide Again
There's not much to do today except be a tourist so I start with a walk along Rundle Mall. It's a strange feeling being surrounded by all these people again. The isolation of the bike helmet has become really comfortable. There is time to chill out and reflect, even while tearing along the highway at breakneck speeds. That reflection is near impossible in the cacophony of Adelaide. Even in the swanky apartment I'm bombarded by the sounds of traffic and people. It's counterintuitive that the relative safety of the apartment is less relaxing, but that's the way it is.
We take the tram out to Glenelg to get lunch. Glenelg is an odd place. It's like a beach suffering from an overdose of Ritalin. There are restaurants and amusement rides and so much traffic. I see people nearly everywhere except on the beach itself. I don't get that; why travel all the way to the beach and then sit inside a cafe?
As we sit inside a cafe in Glenelg (don't bother pointing out the hypocrisy) to have a late lunch, Dave gets a call from the BMW mechanic. The bike has only just arrived and it was supposed to have been there hours ago. Dave descends into an even darker funk, which I didn't think was possible. He's now thinking we could be trapped here for days.
Then at 4:00pm Dave gets the call we've been waiting for; BMW has fixed the fault. The fuel pump had shorted and needed to be replaced. They didn't have a spare in stock so they stripped one off a brand new showroom bike. We are out of here tomorrow morning. Hallelujah.
We take the tram out to Glenelg to get lunch. Glenelg is an odd place. It's like a beach suffering from an overdose of Ritalin. There are restaurants and amusement rides and so much traffic. I see people nearly everywhere except on the beach itself. I don't get that; why travel all the way to the beach and then sit inside a cafe?
As we sit inside a cafe in Glenelg (don't bother pointing out the hypocrisy) to have a late lunch, Dave gets a call from the BMW mechanic. The bike has only just arrived and it was supposed to have been there hours ago. Dave descends into an even darker funk, which I didn't think was possible. He's now thinking we could be trapped here for days.
Then at 4:00pm Dave gets the call we've been waiting for; BMW has fixed the fault. The fuel pump had shorted and needed to be replaced. They didn't have a spare in stock so they stripped one off a brand new showroom bike. We are out of here tomorrow morning. Hallelujah.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Adelaide Hills
Today we're heading to Adelaide. It's an early start and the weather is superb. There are nasty looking clouds on the ranges up north. However all along the coast there are clear blue skies. It's a great day for riding.
This is a 350km stretch along flat and straight highway. I ride the bike like it's been stolen and soon leave Dave behind. The landscape blurs past and I get a flashback to the ending scene of the movie 2001: A Space Odyssey. I wonder if Kubrick got inspiration for that scene while riding a bike. Probably not.
Just outside of Adelaide I stop for fuel and wait for Dave to catch up. It's not yet lunch so we decide to check out the Adelaide Hills. I feel a bit sorry for Dave, stuck in his cage, because this is motorcycling heaven. The Adelaide Hills are covered with long winding scenic drives. Occasionally a climb will put you up high enough to admire the view. There are plenty of other bikes joining us today. I guess this is a popular destination for all the weekend riders from Adelaide.
We make a brief stop at the Barossa Reservoir which has been nicknamed the Whispering Wall. The dam wall is shaped such that if you talk at one end your voice is heard clearly at the other end. It's vaguely amusing for about fifteen seconds but then the novelty wears off. The ride to the dam was well worth it though.
Our next stop is Hahndorf, an "authentic" German village, and the cheesiest place on earth. There were several stores with names prefixed Ye Olde, I kid you not, but sadly not a single Coffee Shoppe among them. There are some buskers who sing off-key, a whole store devoted to fortune telling and tarot cards, and of course a bunch of pubs selling Ye Olde Authentic German Beer. I look around in horror and fortunately Dave concurs so we get the hell out of Hahndorf.
It's getting late so we head into Adelaide. BMW has gotten us accommodation in a swanky apartment in the middle of the CBD. I park my bike, covered in dirt and weighed down by camping gear, next to a Jaguar. The apartment is sheer luxury, possibly the last luxury I'll experience for a while.
This is a 350km stretch along flat and straight highway. I ride the bike like it's been stolen and soon leave Dave behind. The landscape blurs past and I get a flashback to the ending scene of the movie 2001: A Space Odyssey. I wonder if Kubrick got inspiration for that scene while riding a bike. Probably not.
Just outside of Adelaide I stop for fuel and wait for Dave to catch up. It's not yet lunch so we decide to check out the Adelaide Hills. I feel a bit sorry for Dave, stuck in his cage, because this is motorcycling heaven. The Adelaide Hills are covered with long winding scenic drives. Occasionally a climb will put you up high enough to admire the view. There are plenty of other bikes joining us today. I guess this is a popular destination for all the weekend riders from Adelaide.
We make a brief stop at the Barossa Reservoir which has been nicknamed the Whispering Wall. The dam wall is shaped such that if you talk at one end your voice is heard clearly at the other end. It's vaguely amusing for about fifteen seconds but then the novelty wears off. The ride to the dam was well worth it though.
Our next stop is Hahndorf, an "authentic" German village, and the cheesiest place on earth. There were several stores with names prefixed Ye Olde, I kid you not, but sadly not a single Coffee Shoppe among them. There are some buskers who sing off-key, a whole store devoted to fortune telling and tarot cards, and of course a bunch of pubs selling Ye Olde Authentic German Beer. I look around in horror and fortunately Dave concurs so we get the hell out of Hahndorf.
It's getting late so we head into Adelaide. BMW has gotten us accommodation in a swanky apartment in the middle of the CBD. I park my bike, covered in dirt and weighed down by camping gear, next to a Jaguar. The apartment is sheer luxury, possibly the last luxury I'll experience for a while.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Stop! Wrong Way. Go Back.
We're stuck in Port Augusta until the night of Saturday waiting for the tow truck to arrive from Adelaide. I try to make the best of a bad situation but this town refuses to make things easy. I scour the tourist brochures for ideas and the best I can come up with is a steam train departing at 10:30am. Unfortunately a combination of not getting back with the hire car until after 10:00am, both of us forgetting to bring our cameras, and neither of us remembering the whereabouts of the train station, means we arrive minutes too late. Disappointing.
Dave is in a foul mood over the bike so I do my best to steer clear of him. He wanders off to stare daggers at his bike while I make good use of a wifi access point. This isn't my idea of a holiday but it's only a delay of one day.
Or so I had thought. Unbeknownst to me, Dave has arranged to pick the bike up personally in Adelaide the morning of Tuesday, three days from now. I had assumed we would just continue the trip west because BMW is obligated to ship the fixed bike to wherever we are in our travels. That would be somewhere in Western Australia. However Dave wants to discuss the problem face to face with the mechanics. He even mentions he might need a few hours with them!
I'm completely surprised by the decision he's made. The delay of three days plus the 700km round trip between Port Augusta and Adelaide will leave us significantly behind schedule to reach Perth on June 30. This probably means missing out on parts of southern Western Australia.
There's not much I can do about it now though. I have an unspoken obligation to Kirsten to ride with Dave and I can't leave him in the lurch, even if he is heading in the wrong direction. Anyway it's only a few days out of the trip.
Dave is in a foul mood over the bike so I do my best to steer clear of him. He wanders off to stare daggers at his bike while I make good use of a wifi access point. This isn't my idea of a holiday but it's only a delay of one day.
Or so I had thought. Unbeknownst to me, Dave has arranged to pick the bike up personally in Adelaide the morning of Tuesday, three days from now. I had assumed we would just continue the trip west because BMW is obligated to ship the fixed bike to wherever we are in our travels. That would be somewhere in Western Australia. However Dave wants to discuss the problem face to face with the mechanics. He even mentions he might need a few hours with them!
I'm completely surprised by the decision he's made. The delay of three days plus the 700km round trip between Port Augusta and Adelaide will leave us significantly behind schedule to reach Perth on June 30. This probably means missing out on parts of southern Western Australia.
There's not much I can do about it now though. I have an unspoken obligation to Kirsten to ride with Dave and I can't leave him in the lurch, even if he is heading in the wrong direction. Anyway it's only a few days out of the trip.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Friday the 13th
The time flies by altogether too quickly and three days after arriving in Wilpena Pound we're packed up and heading south. The trip today is lazy with plenty of stops to take photos. The road is straight and boring until we reach Quorn, famous for the Pichi Richi steam train. The next train departs tomorrow and there's no good reason to stick around in Quorn so it's full steam ahead to Port Augusta.
This stretch wraps through the hills leading down to the bay. The road sweeps under and then over the rail several times with plenty of high speed straights terminated by tight dipping corners. It's in stark contrast to the drudgery we went through this morning. There are heaps of other bikes on this section going in the other direction and I'm about to find out why.
Port Augusta is unpleasant. It's a shipping town with rails and highways and the constant noise that comes with industry. Advertised tourist attractions include (no joke) the hideous power plant and fishing off the 110kph highway bridge. However the next stop on our route is Streaky Bay and it's too far away to reach today, so we'll be spending the night in Port Augusta. We pick a campsite furthest from the highway to get some peace and quiet. Unfortunately nothing in this town can be far away enough from the trains.
The afternoon is not yet over so Dave decides to visit the local Arid Gardens. This is an exhibit of local desert plants and it's the best attraction on offer.
And then, disaster.
Dave makes a routine stop to take a photo and his bike fails to start again. There's a fault in the immobilizer or fuel pump - we can't tell which - and it's beyond our skill to repair. Dave's bike is stranded several kilometres from the campsite on a Friday afternoon.
A call to BMW roadside confirms there are no qualified mechanics in Port Augusta, they will have to tow the bike to the nearest workshop in Adelaide, and the earliest they can look at it is Monday. There aren't even any qualified bike towing truckers in Port Augusta so someone will be driving up from Adelaide on Saturday and arriving that night.
The worst part is we're stuck in this hell hole until then.
This stretch wraps through the hills leading down to the bay. The road sweeps under and then over the rail several times with plenty of high speed straights terminated by tight dipping corners. It's in stark contrast to the drudgery we went through this morning. There are heaps of other bikes on this section going in the other direction and I'm about to find out why.
Port Augusta is unpleasant. It's a shipping town with rails and highways and the constant noise that comes with industry. Advertised tourist attractions include (no joke) the hideous power plant and fishing off the 110kph highway bridge. However the next stop on our route is Streaky Bay and it's too far away to reach today, so we'll be spending the night in Port Augusta. We pick a campsite furthest from the highway to get some peace and quiet. Unfortunately nothing in this town can be far away enough from the trains.
The afternoon is not yet over so Dave decides to visit the local Arid Gardens. This is an exhibit of local desert plants and it's the best attraction on offer.
And then, disaster.
Dave makes a routine stop to take a photo and his bike fails to start again. There's a fault in the immobilizer or fuel pump - we can't tell which - and it's beyond our skill to repair. Dave's bike is stranded several kilometres from the campsite on a Friday afternoon.
A call to BMW roadside confirms there are no qualified mechanics in Port Augusta, they will have to tow the bike to the nearest workshop in Adelaide, and the earliest they can look at it is Monday. There aren't even any qualified bike towing truckers in Port Augusta so someone will be driving up from Adelaide on Saturday and arriving that night.
The worst part is we're stuck in this hell hole until then.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Wilpena Pound
Wilpena Pound is as great as the brochures had promised. There was a turn of good luck with the weather as it was sunny and warm(ish) the entire stay. The initial plan was to stay two nights but we extended to three nights because there is so much to see and do, with superb facilities and camping grounds.
The first day involved a scenic flight around the Wilpena Pound in a Cessna 172. Apparently the planes had been grounded for a week due to rain and low cloud, so it was more good fortune with the weather. The air was calm and the flight was very comfortable, which was great because these little planes can get bumped around when the wind is gustier. No barf bags were necessary and I got plenty of fantastic aerial photos.
After lunch we bushwalked up to Wangara Lookout. This is supposedly a moderate walk but I almost carked it halfway up the mountain. I eventually made it the whole way to the summit and the views were well worth the 5 years I knocked off my lifespan. Dave was keen to do one of the difficult walks so I told him to go for it, because I was retiring to the resort's bar for a beer.
The following day was a 4WD tour up to Brachina Lookout to see geological formations and fossils. I was still a bit ginger after the previous night's effort in the bar and the jolting of the landcruiser wasn't helping matters. I enjoyed the tour despite concerned comments from fellow tourists that I looked slightly green. The fossils - the ancient rocks, not my fellow tourists - were a highlight of the day.
I haven't figured out if it's because they're on holidays as well, or if it's because we're away from the city, but people are very friendly and talkative. Everybody wants to discuss travel plans. The gray nomads are a wealth of knowledge regarding places to visit and sights to see. We even achieve minor notoriety in the camping ground as the "mad bastards" on bikes. It's a welcome change from the cold indifference of Melbourne.
The first day involved a scenic flight around the Wilpena Pound in a Cessna 172. Apparently the planes had been grounded for a week due to rain and low cloud, so it was more good fortune with the weather. The air was calm and the flight was very comfortable, which was great because these little planes can get bumped around when the wind is gustier. No barf bags were necessary and I got plenty of fantastic aerial photos.
After lunch we bushwalked up to Wangara Lookout. This is supposedly a moderate walk but I almost carked it halfway up the mountain. I eventually made it the whole way to the summit and the views were well worth the 5 years I knocked off my lifespan. Dave was keen to do one of the difficult walks so I told him to go for it, because I was retiring to the resort's bar for a beer.
The following day was a 4WD tour up to Brachina Lookout to see geological formations and fossils. I was still a bit ginger after the previous night's effort in the bar and the jolting of the landcruiser wasn't helping matters. I enjoyed the tour despite concerned comments from fellow tourists that I looked slightly green. The fossils - the ancient rocks, not my fellow tourists - were a highlight of the day.
I haven't figured out if it's because they're on holidays as well, or if it's because we're away from the city, but people are very friendly and talkative. Everybody wants to discuss travel plans. The gray nomads are a wealth of knowledge regarding places to visit and sights to see. We even achieve minor notoriety in the camping ground as the "mad bastards" on bikes. It's a welcome change from the cold indifference of Melbourne.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Plains, Trains and Automobikes
One good night's sleep in Clare has really improved our spirits. The forecast for today is more drizzle but it's dry when we gear up and ride off.
Dave confesses he's never been to a winery cellar door before. He doesn't want to spend the whole day in Clare tasting wine (nor do I) so he settles for just one, Annie's Lane. Some cellar doors are a sham because the wine is made elsewhere and shipped back to Clare just for show. Sometimes even the grapes are grown elsewhere. Annie's Lane is guilty on both counts. It's all in good fun though.
The show is soon over and we're riding north. Dave wants to stop in Burra, an old mining town where previous generations of his family once lived. The pie shop in Burra makes a fantastic Cornish Pastie which ends up being my lunch and dinner; miners obviously eat more than average people. We check out the various tourist exhibits and also the local church before continuing north.
We're heading into a large flat expanse of SA desert. The roads become predictably straight and flat. With no trees or hills to obstruct the wind it quickly reaches gale speeds, making it difficult to control the bikes. Occasionally the wind gets under my helmet which lifts like a parachute and makes me swerve unpredictably. Fortunately the roads are almost empty of traffic.
We are stopped at the railway tracks in Peterborough by the Indian-Pacific train. This particular train only runs twice a week and it was blind luck we arrived at the exact same moment it was passing. This chance encounter inspires us to visit the Peterborough vintage train exhibition, which has the silly name of Steamland. The restoration society has had bad luck recently with a tornado destroying the shelter and rain damaging the subsequently exposed carriages. Despite the damage there is still plenty to see. We get a guided tour of the trains and workshops by an extremely enthusiastic volunteer. It was well worth the time.
Our destination today is Wilpena Pound in the Flinder's Ranges and it's getting late in the afternoon with a fair distance still to travel. The roads are chockers with sheep and kangaroos who apparently think the highway is the safest place to hang out. The dead animals by the roadside might have thought otherwise, even if only in their final moments. Dave is in the lead and sensibly slows down but the downside is we arrive well after dark. I was hoping to see Wilpena Pound as we rode in however that will have to wait until tomorrow.
Dave confesses he's never been to a winery cellar door before. He doesn't want to spend the whole day in Clare tasting wine (nor do I) so he settles for just one, Annie's Lane. Some cellar doors are a sham because the wine is made elsewhere and shipped back to Clare just for show. Sometimes even the grapes are grown elsewhere. Annie's Lane is guilty on both counts. It's all in good fun though.
The show is soon over and we're riding north. Dave wants to stop in Burra, an old mining town where previous generations of his family once lived. The pie shop in Burra makes a fantastic Cornish Pastie which ends up being my lunch and dinner; miners obviously eat more than average people. We check out the various tourist exhibits and also the local church before continuing north.
We're heading into a large flat expanse of SA desert. The roads become predictably straight and flat. With no trees or hills to obstruct the wind it quickly reaches gale speeds, making it difficult to control the bikes. Occasionally the wind gets under my helmet which lifts like a parachute and makes me swerve unpredictably. Fortunately the roads are almost empty of traffic.
We are stopped at the railway tracks in Peterborough by the Indian-Pacific train. This particular train only runs twice a week and it was blind luck we arrived at the exact same moment it was passing. This chance encounter inspires us to visit the Peterborough vintage train exhibition, which has the silly name of Steamland. The restoration society has had bad luck recently with a tornado destroying the shelter and rain damaging the subsequently exposed carriages. Despite the damage there is still plenty to see. We get a guided tour of the trains and workshops by an extremely enthusiastic volunteer. It was well worth the time.
Our destination today is Wilpena Pound in the Flinder's Ranges and it's getting late in the afternoon with a fair distance still to travel. The roads are chockers with sheep and kangaroos who apparently think the highway is the safest place to hang out. The dead animals by the roadside might have thought otherwise, even if only in their final moments. Dave is in the lead and sensibly slows down but the downside is we arrive well after dark. I was hoping to see Wilpena Pound as we rode in however that will have to wait until tomorrow.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Every Dark Cloud
Today turns out to be the lowest point of the trip so far. The campsite is right on the outskirts of Penola. It's also near a major trucking route so all night long I'm woken by the teeth rattling sounds of air brakes. In the morning some cretin in the campsite, seemingly metres from my tent, decides to rev the last few horsepower out of his car engine until all the neighborhood dogs start howling in protest. And to top it all off, it's raining again.
Faaark.
It rained all night and continues to rain all morning. There is nothing I own that is not soaked and muddy. Dave looks like he's about to pack it all in and I'm starting to feel that way as well. The local forecast predicts 3 more days of this shitty weather. Dave and I make an executive decision to get out of this hell hole.
We pack the gear with mud included and start riding north through the drizzle. There's a bitterly cold crosswind that blows strong enough to occasionally throw the bike out of balance. We're also fighting on the roads with tourists returning to Adelaide after the long weekend. They're in climate controlled luxury trucks and they seem to be oblivious to what's going on around them. I curse loudly into my helmet.
By the time we arrive at Keith (the town) the drizzle has stopped and a silver lining has appeared. Literally. In the distance we see clear skies. Soon we're back in gorgeous sunlight. My mood is massively improved.
We stop for fuel in Tailem Bend and are quickly pounced upon by a pack of motorcyclists. They ask all sorts of questions about the bikes, the gear and the trip. One guy is particularly impressed by the bashplate on my bike. I have to admit it is a sexy bashplate. They all express quiet awe when they learn Dave got permission from "the wife" to go on a biking holiday for three months. They want to know the secret but Dave isn't letting on.
The remainder of today is a brilliant ride through Barossa Valley and the surrounding regions. The roads are dry and winding and fast with utterly spectacular views. It is exactly the sort of riding I wanted from this trip. The only negatives are the encroaching darkness and the bitter cold. I can see myself coming back here in the summer.
We arrive at Clare (the town) in the Clare Valley just slightly after dark. Neither of us feels up to another miserable morning so we book a motel room and dry the gear in front of the heater.
Faaark.
It rained all night and continues to rain all morning. There is nothing I own that is not soaked and muddy. Dave looks like he's about to pack it all in and I'm starting to feel that way as well. The local forecast predicts 3 more days of this shitty weather. Dave and I make an executive decision to get out of this hell hole.
We pack the gear with mud included and start riding north through the drizzle. There's a bitterly cold crosswind that blows strong enough to occasionally throw the bike out of balance. We're also fighting on the roads with tourists returning to Adelaide after the long weekend. They're in climate controlled luxury trucks and they seem to be oblivious to what's going on around them. I curse loudly into my helmet.
By the time we arrive at Keith (the town) the drizzle has stopped and a silver lining has appeared. Literally. In the distance we see clear skies. Soon we're back in gorgeous sunlight. My mood is massively improved.
We stop for fuel in Tailem Bend and are quickly pounced upon by a pack of motorcyclists. They ask all sorts of questions about the bikes, the gear and the trip. One guy is particularly impressed by the bashplate on my bike. I have to admit it is a sexy bashplate. They all express quiet awe when they learn Dave got permission from "the wife" to go on a biking holiday for three months. They want to know the secret but Dave isn't letting on.
The remainder of today is a brilliant ride through Barossa Valley and the surrounding regions. The roads are dry and winding and fast with utterly spectacular views. It is exactly the sort of riding I wanted from this trip. The only negatives are the encroaching darkness and the bitter cold. I can see myself coming back here in the summer.
We arrive at Clare (the town) in the Clare Valley just slightly after dark. Neither of us feels up to another miserable morning so we book a motel room and dry the gear in front of the heater.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Wet Wet Wet
It rained overnight in Warrnambool and the tents are soaked through again. Waking up to these cold and wet mornings is really starting to get me down. The rain eases temporarily so off we go again.
On the advice of the campsite owner there's a local whale nursery worth checking out. We find the location and there are dozens of people with binoculars but there's a notable absence of whales. A local is selling photos of whales from years past for only $5. No thanks.
The first stop for today is Port Fairy, which is where we would have camped last night if the light had lasted a bit longer. There's not much reason to linger so we head onto Portland and then north to the Prehistoric Forest.
The Prehistoric Forest turns out to be a misleading name. The rock formations do look a little bit like tree trunks but apparently they're formed from chemical reactions to the limestone. It's a spooky environment. Almost no plant life grows on the rocks and the whole area is on a high cliff dropping into the sea. The site is barren and desolate and lifeless. I get the feeling I'm standing on the Moon with its cratered surface.
More impressive (to me) than the "forest" are more of these fantastic wind turbines. They're only a few metres away from the road and they are simply massive. I picked up a brochure in Portland with technical details. The blades are over 30 metres long and the entire windfarm produces one eighth of South Australia's electricity needs.
We continue to head north. The intention is to camp in the Coonawarra wine region. The rain starts falling again and the roads are slick. Fortunately this is an agricultural area where the roads are very long and very straight, so we get up a good speed and cover a fair distance. However going fast through a winter drizzle is doing nothing for my mood.
We pick the first camping ground we find in Penola. The forecast for tomorrow is more rain. Bah. I'm looking forward to the unbearable heat of Western Australia.
On the advice of the campsite owner there's a local whale nursery worth checking out. We find the location and there are dozens of people with binoculars but there's a notable absence of whales. A local is selling photos of whales from years past for only $5. No thanks.
The first stop for today is Port Fairy, which is where we would have camped last night if the light had lasted a bit longer. There's not much reason to linger so we head onto Portland and then north to the Prehistoric Forest.
The Prehistoric Forest turns out to be a misleading name. The rock formations do look a little bit like tree trunks but apparently they're formed from chemical reactions to the limestone. It's a spooky environment. Almost no plant life grows on the rocks and the whole area is on a high cliff dropping into the sea. The site is barren and desolate and lifeless. I get the feeling I'm standing on the Moon with its cratered surface.
More impressive (to me) than the "forest" are more of these fantastic wind turbines. They're only a few metres away from the road and they are simply massive. I picked up a brochure in Portland with technical details. The blades are over 30 metres long and the entire windfarm produces one eighth of South Australia's electricity needs.
We continue to head north. The intention is to camp in the Coonawarra wine region. The rain starts falling again and the roads are slick. Fortunately this is an agricultural area where the roads are very long and very straight, so we get up a good speed and cover a fair distance. However going fast through a winter drizzle is doing nothing for my mood.
We pick the first camping ground we find in Penola. The forecast for tomorrow is more rain. Bah. I'm looking forward to the unbearable heat of Western Australia.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Sightseeing
It rained overnight and everything is soaked through. The sun makes a brief appearance in the morning so we seize the opportunity to pack up the sodden tents and get the hell out of Apollo Bay. The Great Ocean Road is calling!
The rain is still coming down but the showers are isolated. Some sections of the road are bone dry yet other sections are slick with fresh rain. Every now and then it drizzles a fine mist that permeates even the wet weather gear. It's enough to make you miserable and cold but we decide to press on anyway.
The first goal for today is Cape Otway Lighthouse which is in the Cape Otway National Park. The ride through the park is... interesting. The roads are narrow and wet and covered in light green moss. Even Dave seems fazed by the riding conditions for once.
The lighthouse exhibit turns out to be worth the hassle. It was constructed in the mid-1800s, originally burning whale oil, later converted to kerosene, then converted to electric in the 1930s. Now it is has been replaced by an automatic solar-powered "lighthouse" in a separate building. We climb the old tower to take a closer look at the mechanism. The lenses weigh several tonnes but float on a bed of mercury so we're able to set the mechanism spinning with the lightest touch. The power source that turned the lenses used to be clockwork, similar to that found in a grandfather clock. It's very impressive.
The next stop is the Cape Otway Fly. It's a suspended steel walkway in the middle of a forest. At the highest point you are more than 100 feet above the ground. It's impressive from an engineering perspective but I can't help feel that it misses the point. It seems to put the forest in a cage, like those depressing zoo walks that take you past the neatly caged and labeled animals.
It's back to the last hilly section of the Great Ocean Road. This is supposedly the best bit and it might have been if it wasn't being resurfaced at the time. The steep and twisty downhill section is covered in loose gravel. Despite going well under the recommended speed the front wheel keeps sliding out at every corner. Argh.
The rest of the Great Ocean Road is highway quality so we just let the bikes loose. Dave wants to do the usual tourist thing and take photos at the Twelve Apostles and London Bridge. Unfortunately the sites are covered in people. There are buckets of cars and several coaches of foreign tourists. It probably doesn't help it's a Saturday and also a long weekend. I'm getting a bit fed up with crowds. I got enough of that in Mellbourne.
With all the sightseeing today we've covered barely any distance. Despite our best efforts to make up for lost ground we both run out of enthusiasm at Warrnambool.
The rain is still coming down but the showers are isolated. Some sections of the road are bone dry yet other sections are slick with fresh rain. Every now and then it drizzles a fine mist that permeates even the wet weather gear. It's enough to make you miserable and cold but we decide to press on anyway.
The first goal for today is Cape Otway Lighthouse which is in the Cape Otway National Park. The ride through the park is... interesting. The roads are narrow and wet and covered in light green moss. Even Dave seems fazed by the riding conditions for once.
The lighthouse exhibit turns out to be worth the hassle. It was constructed in the mid-1800s, originally burning whale oil, later converted to kerosene, then converted to electric in the 1930s. Now it is has been replaced by an automatic solar-powered "lighthouse" in a separate building. We climb the old tower to take a closer look at the mechanism. The lenses weigh several tonnes but float on a bed of mercury so we're able to set the mechanism spinning with the lightest touch. The power source that turned the lenses used to be clockwork, similar to that found in a grandfather clock. It's very impressive.
The next stop is the Cape Otway Fly. It's a suspended steel walkway in the middle of a forest. At the highest point you are more than 100 feet above the ground. It's impressive from an engineering perspective but I can't help feel that it misses the point. It seems to put the forest in a cage, like those depressing zoo walks that take you past the neatly caged and labeled animals.
It's back to the last hilly section of the Great Ocean Road. This is supposedly the best bit and it might have been if it wasn't being resurfaced at the time. The steep and twisty downhill section is covered in loose gravel. Despite going well under the recommended speed the front wheel keeps sliding out at every corner. Argh.
The rest of the Great Ocean Road is highway quality so we just let the bikes loose. Dave wants to do the usual tourist thing and take photos at the Twelve Apostles and London Bridge. Unfortunately the sites are covered in people. There are buckets of cars and several coaches of foreign tourists. It probably doesn't help it's a Saturday and also a long weekend. I'm getting a bit fed up with crowds. I got enough of that in Mellbourne.
With all the sightseeing today we've covered barely any distance. Despite our best efforts to make up for lost ground we both run out of enthusiasm at Warrnambool.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Great Ocean Road
Melbourne was hectic and stressful and I'm glad we're leaving. It was nice having hot showers and good food but I want to get back to the riding.
The trip out of Melbourne is much calmer than the trip in. It rains lightly but not even that is going to darken my mood today. Because today we start on the Great Ocean Road.
First stop is Torquay and then onto the world famous Bell's Beach. This is one of the most popular (and insane) surf beaches. There are the usual mad surfers in the freezing water and a couple of paragliders catching lift off the cliffs. An ancient Tiger Moth flies past at 500 feet. One day I want to fly one of those planes myself.
The Great Ocean Road is reknowned for tight corners, hairpins, steep climbs and descents. It's everything a motorcyclist could ask for. The start of the Great Ocean Road is marked on the highway by a wooden arch over the road, similar to the arches over the finish line on grand prix circuits. It's probably sending the wrong message to motorists, especially given the accident rate on this stretch, but it feels right nonetheless.
Unfortunately no sooner than I start the stretch does the rain begin. It's only a light drizzle but it makes the road slippery and unpredictable. I'm a terrible wet weather rider and with 100 foot cliff face drops to my left, I take it very cautiously. I don't know where the wet limits are on this bike annd this is the wrong road to find out.
Thankfully the showers are isolated and soon the road turns dry. I open the bike up and wring it for all she's worth. The V-Strom never fails to deliver. The third gear has enough torque to pull through an uphill hairpin, yet enough legs to sprint out to [ed: the speed limit of 80kph] on the straights. I keep trying to sneak glances at the scenery, aware that it's all blurring past so quickly, but there's simply no time. The bike dips quickly into each corner but I have to give it my full attention.
It starts to turn dark and gloomy once we reach Apollo Bay so we make camp there. More of the Ocean Road tomorrow... the weather report says early morning drizzle, that will make for an exciting ride.
The trip out of Melbourne is much calmer than the trip in. It rains lightly but not even that is going to darken my mood today. Because today we start on the Great Ocean Road.
First stop is Torquay and then onto the world famous Bell's Beach. This is one of the most popular (and insane) surf beaches. There are the usual mad surfers in the freezing water and a couple of paragliders catching lift off the cliffs. An ancient Tiger Moth flies past at 500 feet. One day I want to fly one of those planes myself.
The Great Ocean Road is reknowned for tight corners, hairpins, steep climbs and descents. It's everything a motorcyclist could ask for. The start of the Great Ocean Road is marked on the highway by a wooden arch over the road, similar to the arches over the finish line on grand prix circuits. It's probably sending the wrong message to motorists, especially given the accident rate on this stretch, but it feels right nonetheless.
Unfortunately no sooner than I start the stretch does the rain begin. It's only a light drizzle but it makes the road slippery and unpredictable. I'm a terrible wet weather rider and with 100 foot cliff face drops to my left, I take it very cautiously. I don't know where the wet limits are on this bike annd this is the wrong road to find out.
Thankfully the showers are isolated and soon the road turns dry. I open the bike up and wring it for all she's worth. The V-Strom never fails to deliver. The third gear has enough torque to pull through an uphill hairpin, yet enough legs to sprint out to [ed: the speed limit of 80kph] on the straights. I keep trying to sneak glances at the scenery, aware that it's all blurring past so quickly, but there's simply no time. The bike dips quickly into each corner but I have to give it my full attention.
It starts to turn dark and gloomy once we reach Apollo Bay so we make camp there. More of the Ocean Road tomorrow... the weather report says early morning drizzle, that will make for an exciting ride.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Destination Melbourne
We only spent one night at Wilson's Promonotory. If it wasn't winter I could have spent the whole three months there. The beaches are pristine. The nature walks are abundant. The wildlife is so tame it's beyond belief. There were native birds roosting on the bikes. One rosella took a keen interest in the canping gear. Emu and kangaroos grazed at the roadside.
But it is far too cold. A quick visit to the beach put to rest any hope of swimming. The ride out was uneventful despite damp roads. Our goal for today is to reach Dave's mates place in Mellbourne where we have flloorspace for a few nights.
The planned route is via Inverloch and here's the first hiccup of the trip. Dave has tthe GPS so he's in the lead. I see him ride straight past the turnoff we should have taken. Seems his GPS has decided the quickest route isn't the sealed highway but instead a corrugated dirt road. I'm unimpressed but this is good practise for the coming weeks. The bikes handle the dirt well despite the extra weight from the luggage.
We're soon back on sealed roads and off to see the holy land of motosport... Phillip Island. After crossing the gigantic bridge that connects the island to the mainland we then spend a good 20 minutes before getting to the track. I had no idea it was that remote. I had high expectations but the visitor's centre turned out to be a bit of a dud. You can't go on the track unless it's a paid training course. You can't even photograph the track unless you pay for a tour. Fark that. I amused myself by taking photographs of the scale replica slot-car and go-kart tracks instead.
Alll that's left for today is the ride into Melbourne. This turns out to be the most stressful bit of road I've ever taken. Hghway speeds with multiple lanes and trucks farking everywhere. There's nothing fun about being surrounded on all sides by double trailers and mad Melbourne drivers who change lanes without looking. I count my lucky stars when we pull into the quiet back streets of Newmarket. After several days of empty roads and perfect riding, Melbourne traffic is an unwelcome shock.
No matter. Now is the time to get supplies before heading back to the great outdoors.
But it is far too cold. A quick visit to the beach put to rest any hope of swimming. The ride out was uneventful despite damp roads. Our goal for today is to reach Dave's mates place in Mellbourne where we have flloorspace for a few nights.
The planned route is via Inverloch and here's the first hiccup of the trip. Dave has tthe GPS so he's in the lead. I see him ride straight past the turnoff we should have taken. Seems his GPS has decided the quickest route isn't the sealed highway but instead a corrugated dirt road. I'm unimpressed but this is good practise for the coming weeks. The bikes handle the dirt well despite the extra weight from the luggage.
We're soon back on sealed roads and off to see the holy land of motosport... Phillip Island. After crossing the gigantic bridge that connects the island to the mainland we then spend a good 20 minutes before getting to the track. I had no idea it was that remote. I had high expectations but the visitor's centre turned out to be a bit of a dud. You can't go on the track unless it's a paid training course. You can't even photograph the track unless you pay for a tour. Fark that. I amused myself by taking photographs of the scale replica slot-car and go-kart tracks instead.
Alll that's left for today is the ride into Melbourne. This turns out to be the most stressful bit of road I've ever taken. Hghway speeds with multiple lanes and trucks farking everywhere. There's nothing fun about being surrounded on all sides by double trailers and mad Melbourne drivers who change lanes without looking. I count my lucky stars when we pull into the quiet back streets of Newmarket. After several days of empty roads and perfect riding, Melbourne traffic is an unwelcome shock.
No matter. Now is the time to get supplies before heading back to the great outdoors.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Just Gets Better
I wake up with a god awful hangover; RSL food never quite agrees with me. Dave is already awake looking chipper and cheerful... damnit!
As we're getting ready to leave we notice the camping ground is chockers with grey nomads. One of them swoops down on us to chat about the bikes. He used to ride old school Triumphs back in the 50s. He reckons windshields and farings are for nancies. I point out my bike has ABS and he just shakes his head in despair. Generational gap, I reckon.
The goal today is to reach Wilson's Promonotory. The roads have suddenly become flat and straight and entirely boring. Dave relieves the tedium by navigating to 90 Mile Beach. The view, standing somewhere in the middle, is breathtaking. I idly comment that the beach goes on forever. Dave assures me it only goes on for 90 miles.
Near the end of the day we chance across a windfarm. I love these things; they speak to me of progress and the future. This farm is high on a cliff face and it's open to the public. The ride up to the farm is a superb twisty low-gear hill climb with a sheer cliff drop on one side, which is the sort of road I live for. The lookout is across luscious green fields. Well worth the diversion.
We eventually find ourselves at the national park. Only now do I understand why Dave was so keen to camp here. The ride through the park is a motorcyclist's dream. Undulating hills, steep climbs, tight turns, and perfectly maintained tarmac. To top it all off, every corner exposes yet another jaw dropping view. Several times I had to stop to take photos.
More of this tomorrow. I can hardly wait.
As we're getting ready to leave we notice the camping ground is chockers with grey nomads. One of them swoops down on us to chat about the bikes. He used to ride old school Triumphs back in the 50s. He reckons windshields and farings are for nancies. I point out my bike has ABS and he just shakes his head in despair. Generational gap, I reckon.
The goal today is to reach Wilson's Promonotory. The roads have suddenly become flat and straight and entirely boring. Dave relieves the tedium by navigating to 90 Mile Beach. The view, standing somewhere in the middle, is breathtaking. I idly comment that the beach goes on forever. Dave assures me it only goes on for 90 miles.
Near the end of the day we chance across a windfarm. I love these things; they speak to me of progress and the future. This farm is high on a cliff face and it's open to the public. The ride up to the farm is a superb twisty low-gear hill climb with a sheer cliff drop on one side, which is the sort of road I live for. The lookout is across luscious green fields. Well worth the diversion.
We eventually find ourselves at the national park. Only now do I understand why Dave was so keen to camp here. The ride through the park is a motorcyclist's dream. Undulating hills, steep climbs, tight turns, and perfectly maintained tarmac. To top it all off, every corner exposes yet another jaw dropping view. Several times I had to stop to take photos.
More of this tomorrow. I can hardly wait.
Monday, June 2, 2008
... Go
The day has arrived. The bags are packed. It was a close call; I was still packing at 2am.
Dave sends me an SMS saying he wants an 11am start. That works for me because I could do with some sleep. The weather in Canberra when I wake up is not bad; a bit cloudy and slightly cool but comfortable enough. I meet him in Duffy and after some heartfelt goodbyes between him and his missus (that's Kirsten) we're off on The Odyssey.
The first leg is to Cooma and then to Nimmitabel. Dave reckons the pie shop in Nimmitabel is awesome so we stop there for lunch. I've been past Nimmitabel before but didn't drop in; won't make that mistake again because the pie was superb. Then we're off to Bombala. I don't know how Dave's handling it but I'm freezing my tits off. The weather that I thought was not bad turns out to be bloody awful at highway speeds. I'm hoping it's warmer at the coast.
From Bombala we turn onto the Cann River Road. I've ridden a few roads but this has to be one of the best I've experienced. Beautiful sweeping corners on perfectly smooth tarmac with spectacular scenery. Being on a bike means you get extra senses coming through and the crisp clean smell of the forrest is uplifting. At the bottom of the road we stop and reflect and grin from ear to ear as we simultaneously realise we have three months of this to look forward to.
We turn onto the Princes Highway towards Lake's Entrance, our end point for the first day. When we arrive it's already well past sunset so we pick the first camping ground we find, quickly put up the tents under the glow of headlights, then off to the local RSL for a feed. A pretty successful start to the trip.
Dave sends me an SMS saying he wants an 11am start. That works for me because I could do with some sleep. The weather in Canberra when I wake up is not bad; a bit cloudy and slightly cool but comfortable enough. I meet him in Duffy and after some heartfelt goodbyes between him and his missus (that's Kirsten) we're off on The Odyssey.
The first leg is to Cooma and then to Nimmitabel. Dave reckons the pie shop in Nimmitabel is awesome so we stop there for lunch. I've been past Nimmitabel before but didn't drop in; won't make that mistake again because the pie was superb. Then we're off to Bombala. I don't know how Dave's handling it but I'm freezing my tits off. The weather that I thought was not bad turns out to be bloody awful at highway speeds. I'm hoping it's warmer at the coast.
From Bombala we turn onto the Cann River Road. I've ridden a few roads but this has to be one of the best I've experienced. Beautiful sweeping corners on perfectly smooth tarmac with spectacular scenery. Being on a bike means you get extra senses coming through and the crisp clean smell of the forrest is uplifting. At the bottom of the road we stop and reflect and grin from ear to ear as we simultaneously realise we have three months of this to look forward to.
We turn onto the Princes Highway towards Lake's Entrance, our end point for the first day. When we arrive it's already well past sunset so we pick the first camping ground we find, quickly put up the tents under the glow of headlights, then off to the local RSL for a feed. A pretty successful start to the trip.
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