Gibbering Idiots

Yesterday we rode from Broome to Derby. There's not a lot to see or do in Derby but it's a stepping stone to the next stage of the odyssey; the Gibb River Road.

The Gibb River Road is a 660 kilometre bush track through the Kimberley. It's reknowned as an exciting adventure trail for 4WD enthusiasts. Many people have warned us against
doing the road on our bikes but we are brave and fearless!

The first 60 kilometres is sealed and quite dull but then the fun begins. Mud, sand, dirt, gravel, rock; it's all here on the Gibb. My initial apprehension fades away. This is so much easier than I had expected. I pick up the speed - 50, 60, 70 - and pretty soon I'm hurtling along at 80kph.

Then without warning I nearly have a disaster. The surface looks like the compacted dirt I've been riding all day but it is actually deep ruts filled with dust. The dust doesn't support any weight and the front tyre sinks up to the rim. I'm bucked violently and it's only by sheer luck that the dust section is very short. The momentum of the bike carries me through, the rear wheel finds traction, and with heavy application of power I regain control.

That was a wakeup call. I greatly reduce my speed and I pick my lines more cautiously. Despite my carefulness the same thing happens again. However this time I have less momentum so the bike bucks even harder. Only with the rush of adrenaline do I have enough strength to hold the bike upright.

Now I'm shaken and the Gibb heaps insult onto injury by shaking me further; the corrugations have just begun. Each corrugation hammers through the handlebars and into my palms which are soon aching. The front wheel has almost no traction such that even the lightest pressure on the front brake sets off the ABS. Going faster is dangerous because that reduces steering control but going slower makes the corrugations even more pronounced. My brain is shaking out my earholes and there's 550 kilometres remaining!

Dave has stopped at the next intersection. He's not enjoying this either. He says the dust we're finding is called Pindan dust and he expects more of it on the Gibb. He suggests we take an escape route back to the highway. Along the way we can stop at Windjana Gorge and Tunnel Creek Gorge. That sounds good to me.

Windjana Gorge is spectacular. It runs through an ancient coral reef (Napier Range) and reaches 100 metres into the air. The Lennard River runs through the gorge and native wildlife flocks to the water; birds, fish, bats, and freshwater crocodiles! Several crocs are lazing by the sands so Dave sneaks up on one, hoping to snap a photo, but he gets too close and it leaps into the air before diving into the water. Dave shits a brick and I burst out laughing.

Heading on towards Tunnel Creek Gorge the road starts to deteriorate. The corrugations are much worse and there is even more Pindan dust. I'm finding it increasingly difficult to handle the bike and several times I nearly lose control. This is beginning to worry me; I could get seriously hurt on this road. Only a short distance before Tunnel Creek Gorge I hit another section of dust and the bike starts sliding. Here's where the inevitable happens.

Man down.

No, not me. I ride the pegs and slide my bike sideways to a stop and I'm still upright. That was really close. Then I look ahead and see Dave's luggage strewn through the bushes and Dave standing near his bike. He rode into a big section of dust in front of me and his bike went down, spun around, tore off the right pannier, and threw Dave down the road.

The pannier is a mangled mess but thankfully Dave is not hurt and his bike is alright. The crash happened twenty minutes previously - I was riding relatively slow - and the pannier hadn't burst open as I'd first thought; Dave had emptied the contents so he could inspect the damage. It's pretty bad and we need straps to reattach it to his bike.

Dave is still shaken and it's another half hour before we start moving again. Our confidence is shot and we crawl along at a snail's pace. The road manages to get worse with water crossings, gigantic rocks, and long sections of agonisingly unrideable dust. Passing cars throw up huge choking clouds that sting the eyes. Several times I nearly drop the bike and I maintain control only by the skin of my teeth. This is just horrible.

We ride the last 10 kilometres in darkness, our headlights providing almost no clues of the surface ahead. When we reach the highway it has taken 8 taxing hours to travel 250 measly kilometres. We were idiots for riding that road with such minimal offroad experience. The outcome could have been so much worse. It was an utterly awful day of riding.

But I am enjoying the warm glow of accomplishment.