Yesterday was, as expected, an agonisingly slow ride from Carnarvon. Even the gray nomads with camping trailers were overtaking us; I feel so ashamed.
Today I'm awake early - on holiday that's anytime before noon - because I'm going swimming with whale sharks! A bus arrives at an ungodly hour to take us to the boat ramp. I'm a little nervous because I've never been to sea before, I can just barely swim, and I'm about to strap flippers to my feet and jump into the deepest blue with sharks. This will be fun!
At the start there's a practice snorkeling session in the calm waters behind the reef. I assume this is so the organisers can identify the people who can't swim. With any luck I can fake competence long enough to fool the divemaster. I've never snorkeled before and it's an incredible experience. The water abounds with coral and brightly coloured fish. The fish swim casually around us, seemingly unfrightened by our presence. I'm completely relaxed; it feels uncannily natural to be breathing while face-down in the water.
The practice is soon over and we are back on the boat and heading out past the reef. The waves are bigger out here and my snorkel is frighteningly short. The crew is having trouble finding a whale shark despite the assistance of two spotter planes. We see humpback whales, dolphins, turtles and dugongs but the whale sharks are well hidden.
Several hours pass before whale sharks are spotted many miles away. The boat surges into full throttle and races towards the main attraction. When we reach the sharks it's like a military operation; the divemaster shouts "go go go" and a dozen people rapidly launch into the sea. All I can see are arms, legs and bubbles. My snorkel fills with salt water and I inhale the foul liquid just as a wave pushes me beneath the surface. My life flashes before my eyes but it wasn't that interesting the first time and I'm not particularly interested in watching reruns.
Somehow I crawl back on deck but before I can catch my breath it's "go go go" again. I get caught up in the rush of people and find myself back in the water. This time I swim towards the big crowd of swimmers, reasoning that they must know something I don't. The leader of our team is shouting to get back but I don't know why; I can't see t...
There it is.
It's huge. It's shaped like a stealth bomber, gliding through the water, heading straight towards me, and I'm frozen in place. Part of my brain is screaming "It's A Fricking Shark, Get Out Of Here" but the larger logical part is saying "you don't have a chance, give up now". In any event, I'm not moving out of the way so the team leader gets my attention by throwing her elbow in my face. I move backwards and the shark swims silently past me, less than an arm's length away. I'm dumbstruck and I hardly notice that I'm inhaling salt water again.
There are a few more dives but none of them compare to that first sighting. I learn that the sharks I saw today are babies; mature whale sharks are up to 18 metres long. It would be awesome to see something that large bearing down on you. I imagine being a fish in the ocean must be non-stop terror, always on the lookout for silent stealthy death machines like sharks. The only predators I have to worry about back on land are the mosquitos.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Monday, July 7, 2008
Slow and Steady
Dave has been fretting all week because the bike tyres are nearly worn out. I've been checking mine occasionally and this morning I estimate 6-7mm tread left on the centre. I reckon that will be sufficient to reach Broome where I have a new pair of tyres waiting. Dave is less confident so he's dropped his top speed down to 100kph. I don't have the patience to go that slow so I race ahead to our next stop at Carnarvon.
Carnarvon is an unexpectedly beautiful location. The town centre is adjacent to the water and several sailboats bob lazily near the shore. I sit in the shade of a tree and watch the boats while I wait for Dave and Kirsten to arrive.
Still waiting.
Still waiting!
Half an hour later they finally dawdle into town, going about as fast as a comatose tortoise. We find a campsite and start putting up the tents. That's when Dave turns to me and says "Jeez, look at your rear tyre".
I turn around and stare at my tyre in horror. It's like some nauseating scene from a slasher movie after the villain has done something unspeakable to the hapless victim with a carving knife. Shredded rubber is literally hanging from the rear tyre. I gingerly touch the centre and a ragged strip of rubber falls to the ground. What the ****?
There's a motorcycle dealer in Carnarvon so I hurry down. The owner and mechanic takes one look and says "No way you'll make Broome". He goes on to say that the highway between Geraldton and Broome is notorious for destroying tyres; it's something to do with the gravel they use. Dave's rear tyre is slightly better but he will not make it to Broome either.
The idea was to head to Exmouth tomorrow. Unfortunately the dealer doesn't have anything suitable for our bikes in stock and it will take two days to get tyres delivered from Perth! Fortunately the dealer is crazy like a fox and he has a plan. He says inflate the tyre to 50psi and travel at 80kph; then I will just make it to Exmouth. He'll ship new tyres to Exmouth by courier and any tyre mechanic can fit it to the rim. I'll just need to get the wheel off the bike.
That plan is so crazy, it just might work.
With renewed optimism we head on down to the local pub. I have only the slightest misgiving about tomorrow; 80kph from here to Exmouth is going to take ages!
Carnarvon is an unexpectedly beautiful location. The town centre is adjacent to the water and several sailboats bob lazily near the shore. I sit in the shade of a tree and watch the boats while I wait for Dave and Kirsten to arrive.
Still waiting.
Still waiting!
Half an hour later they finally dawdle into town, going about as fast as a comatose tortoise. We find a campsite and start putting up the tents. That's when Dave turns to me and says "Jeez, look at your rear tyre".
I turn around and stare at my tyre in horror. It's like some nauseating scene from a slasher movie after the villain has done something unspeakable to the hapless victim with a carving knife. Shredded rubber is literally hanging from the rear tyre. I gingerly touch the centre and a ragged strip of rubber falls to the ground. What the ****?
There's a motorcycle dealer in Carnarvon so I hurry down. The owner and mechanic takes one look and says "No way you'll make Broome". He goes on to say that the highway between Geraldton and Broome is notorious for destroying tyres; it's something to do with the gravel they use. Dave's rear tyre is slightly better but he will not make it to Broome either.
The idea was to head to Exmouth tomorrow. Unfortunately the dealer doesn't have anything suitable for our bikes in stock and it will take two days to get tyres delivered from Perth! Fortunately the dealer is crazy like a fox and he has a plan. He says inflate the tyre to 50psi and travel at 80kph; then I will just make it to Exmouth. He'll ship new tyres to Exmouth by courier and any tyre mechanic can fit it to the rim. I'll just need to get the wheel off the bike.
That plan is so crazy, it just might work.
With renewed optimism we head on down to the local pub. I have only the slightest misgiving about tomorrow; 80kph from here to Exmouth is going to take ages!
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Thanks For All The Fish
Yesterday we had an uneventful ride to Shark Bay. As expected the Monkey Mia resort is fully booked. What we didn't expect is Denham - the nearest town - is also fully booked. We've arrived at the start of school holidays and there aren't even unpowered tent sites left. Gah. Luckily the information centre keeps track of cancellations; I wind up with an overpriced motel room and Dave/Kirsten get into a rundown cabin.
Today I get up early to see the dolphin feedings at Monkey Mia. The shores are crowded with eager parents shoving their reluctant children knee deep into the water, hoping to have them selected to hand a fish to a well fed dolphin. It seems comical; the kids all have a mixed expression of awe and terror when they see the dolphins. I wonder when one of them is going to start bawling... ahh, there's one, right on cue.
The water is pretty murky and I really can't see much of the dolphins. There are apparently 3000 dolphins in the bay although only a half dozen regulars appear for the daily feedings. We hang around for the second feeding but still the water is dark so all I can see are gray blobs floating beneath the surface. I'm unimpressed.
I look around for something else to do at the resort. There is an easy hiking trail nearby and the signage promises an abundance of wildlife. However an hour later I've not seen so much as a lizard. This is all turning out pretty poorly. I hike back to the resort to watch the third and final feeding for today. Unfortunately I'm too late; the third feeding is over and the dolphins don't stick around when there's no food. Damnation.
However as I'm sitting near the beach waiting for Dave and Kirsten the dolphins come back with vain hope of a fourth feed. Hah, that should end any argument that dolphins are intelligent: the stupid animals can't even count to three! The hoardes of tourists have disappeared so I can stand right on the edge of the water. There are six dolphins and one swims up and starts floating right in front of me; it lies within arm's reach, its body sideways, almost beached in the clear shallow water, with one eye looking directly into both of mine. The dolphin floats motionless for nearly a minute before figuring there's no more food, then it swims back into the bay. I realise I'm standing there with a mixed expression of awe and terror; I quickly compose myself before anybody notices.
We head back into Denham for lunch. Dave spots a blue Ninja with ACT registration and stops to chat with the owner, Shane. He's doing the same trip as us only in the opposite direction, and on a sportsbike! I can't begin to imagine how painful that seat must be. Shane has the biggest Cheshire grin on his face. I guess he's happy to discover he's not the only crazy person doing this trip.
Today I get up early to see the dolphin feedings at Monkey Mia. The shores are crowded with eager parents shoving their reluctant children knee deep into the water, hoping to have them selected to hand a fish to a well fed dolphin. It seems comical; the kids all have a mixed expression of awe and terror when they see the dolphins. I wonder when one of them is going to start bawling... ahh, there's one, right on cue.
The water is pretty murky and I really can't see much of the dolphins. There are apparently 3000 dolphins in the bay although only a half dozen regulars appear for the daily feedings. We hang around for the second feeding but still the water is dark so all I can see are gray blobs floating beneath the surface. I'm unimpressed.
I look around for something else to do at the resort. There is an easy hiking trail nearby and the signage promises an abundance of wildlife. However an hour later I've not seen so much as a lizard. This is all turning out pretty poorly. I hike back to the resort to watch the third and final feeding for today. Unfortunately I'm too late; the third feeding is over and the dolphins don't stick around when there's no food. Damnation.
However as I'm sitting near the beach waiting for Dave and Kirsten the dolphins come back with vain hope of a fourth feed. Hah, that should end any argument that dolphins are intelligent: the stupid animals can't even count to three! The hoardes of tourists have disappeared so I can stand right on the edge of the water. There are six dolphins and one swims up and starts floating right in front of me; it lies within arm's reach, its body sideways, almost beached in the clear shallow water, with one eye looking directly into both of mine. The dolphin floats motionless for nearly a minute before figuring there's no more food, then it swims back into the bay. I realise I'm standing there with a mixed expression of awe and terror; I quickly compose myself before anybody notices.
We head back into Denham for lunch. Dave spots a blue Ninja with ACT registration and stops to chat with the owner, Shane. He's doing the same trip as us only in the opposite direction, and on a sportsbike! I can't begin to imagine how painful that seat must be. Shane has the biggest Cheshire grin on his face. I guess he's happy to discover he's not the only crazy person doing this trip.
Friday, July 4, 2008
That Which Is Hard Earned
Kalbarri National Park is reknowned for its nature walks through deep river gorges. The most popular hike covers 8km and is called The Loop. This should be easy, I naively think to myself.
Entering the national park we're stopped by the ranger. He sees our motorbikes and sternly warns us that the road surface is not suitable for bikes. Pfah, we're expert riders and dirt doesn't faze us in the slightest. This should be easy, I reassure myself.
The dirt surface is as easy as expected. Unfortunately the dirt road is merely an appetiser because soon enough the surface turns to sand. I've never ridden sand before and the experience is terrifying. The bike races out of control; the rear wheel slides crazily; the front wheel has no effect; the seat bucks in corners and threatens to throw me off. The nerve wracking ride is 27 kilometres long and by the end I'm exhausted. Now I have the relaxing hike ahead of me. It's only 8km. This should be easy, I desperately try to convince myself.
About halfway through the hike, as I'm edging along a rock ledge hanging over the river, I suddenly realise this hike isn't easy. I'm aching all over when an unwelcome thought comes to mind; I've climbed down into the gorge so that means I still need to climb out!
Two hours later I near the end of the hike. I stare upwards with disbelief at the 30 metre vertical ascent up a cliff face. Dave and Kirsten are already at the top, waving merrily, so there's nothing left to do but start climbing. Vultures circle overhead, hungrily watching my progress. The angry sun beats down mercilessly. This was supposed to be easy, I remind myself with grim amusement.
I manage to claw myself back to the motorbike, greatly to the disappointment of the vultures. Now I just have to ride back over that sand...
... Back at the campsite, the bike miraculously unharmed, an enthusiastic fellow camper comes over to talk about the bikes. He and some friends are planning to ride from Perth to Phillip Island in September for the GP. He wants to know what it's like; is it worth the effort? I recall the wind, the cold, the rain, the pain, and I tell him the plain truth.
Yes, it's worth it.
Entering the national park we're stopped by the ranger. He sees our motorbikes and sternly warns us that the road surface is not suitable for bikes. Pfah, we're expert riders and dirt doesn't faze us in the slightest. This should be easy, I reassure myself.
The dirt surface is as easy as expected. Unfortunately the dirt road is merely an appetiser because soon enough the surface turns to sand. I've never ridden sand before and the experience is terrifying. The bike races out of control; the rear wheel slides crazily; the front wheel has no effect; the seat bucks in corners and threatens to throw me off. The nerve wracking ride is 27 kilometres long and by the end I'm exhausted. Now I have the relaxing hike ahead of me. It's only 8km. This should be easy, I desperately try to convince myself.
About halfway through the hike, as I'm edging along a rock ledge hanging over the river, I suddenly realise this hike isn't easy. I'm aching all over when an unwelcome thought comes to mind; I've climbed down into the gorge so that means I still need to climb out!
Two hours later I near the end of the hike. I stare upwards with disbelief at the 30 metre vertical ascent up a cliff face. Dave and Kirsten are already at the top, waving merrily, so there's nothing left to do but start climbing. Vultures circle overhead, hungrily watching my progress. The angry sun beats down mercilessly. This was supposed to be easy, I remind myself with grim amusement.
I manage to claw myself back to the motorbike, greatly to the disappointment of the vultures. Now I just have to ride back over that sand...
... Back at the campsite, the bike miraculously unharmed, an enthusiastic fellow camper comes over to talk about the bikes. He and some friends are planning to ride from Perth to Phillip Island in September for the GP. He wants to know what it's like; is it worth the effort? I recall the wind, the cold, the rain, the pain, and I tell him the plain truth.
Yes, it's worth it.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Lost In Navigation
The destination today is Kalbarri and it's only a short ride to get there. Dave suggests riding the scenic road at Northhampton rather than the relatively uninteresting highway. Sounds good.
We soon reach Geraldton. Dave heads north with Kirsten along the highway to Northhampton. I see a sign for the scenic route to Northhampton and take that turnoff. It's several minutes before I realise we've been separated and by then I have no intention of turning back; I've discovered the Chapman Valley.
This road used to be dirt but it's been recently sealed; there aren't even lines marked yet. The surface is so smooth and free from imperfections I can almost believe it's never been used before today. Every crest reveals another bend and every bend reveals another hill. Farmland covers every surface. It's a shame Dave is missing out on this.
I can't find anybody at Northhampton so I take the highway to Kalbarri. It's a dull piece of road but the destination justifies the effort. Kalbarri is the quintessential beach town, like I'd expect to see on a postcard. Still no sign of Dave nor Kirsten so I have lunch on the beach while I'm waiting. There's a kite surfer in the bay; he doesn't seem to be any good and it's far more entertaining than watching a pro.
Half an hour later they still haven't arrived. I wonder briefly if Dave dropped his bike. Nah, it's a BMW, it probably has an Anti Crash System and a Collision Avoidance System. Far too much expensive technology for my taste. I like my technology in laptops and phones, not in motorbikes.
I go looking for Dave and Kirsten along the cliffs that dominate the coastline. Ten minutes later I spot them near Natural Bridge. Dave apparently meant a different scenic route and I was meant to take the turnoff at Northhampton, rather than the turnoff to Northhampton. Well how was I meant to know that? My bike doesn't have a fancy Global Positioning System and Satellite Navigation System!
We soon reach Geraldton. Dave heads north with Kirsten along the highway to Northhampton. I see a sign for the scenic route to Northhampton and take that turnoff. It's several minutes before I realise we've been separated and by then I have no intention of turning back; I've discovered the Chapman Valley.
This road used to be dirt but it's been recently sealed; there aren't even lines marked yet. The surface is so smooth and free from imperfections I can almost believe it's never been used before today. Every crest reveals another bend and every bend reveals another hill. Farmland covers every surface. It's a shame Dave is missing out on this.
I can't find anybody at Northhampton so I take the highway to Kalbarri. It's a dull piece of road but the destination justifies the effort. Kalbarri is the quintessential beach town, like I'd expect to see on a postcard. Still no sign of Dave nor Kirsten so I have lunch on the beach while I'm waiting. There's a kite surfer in the bay; he doesn't seem to be any good and it's far more entertaining than watching a pro.
Half an hour later they still haven't arrived. I wonder briefly if Dave dropped his bike. Nah, it's a BMW, it probably has an Anti Crash System and a Collision Avoidance System. Far too much expensive technology for my taste. I like my technology in laptops and phones, not in motorbikes.
I go looking for Dave and Kirsten along the cliffs that dominate the coastline. Ten minutes later I spot them near Natural Bridge. Dave apparently meant a different scenic route and I was meant to take the turnoff at Northhampton, rather than the turnoff to Northhampton. Well how was I meant to know that? My bike doesn't have a fancy Global Positioning System and Satellite Navigation System!
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
That's Pants!
It's a warm sunny morning in Perth and my mood matches the weather. Dave texts me to meet him at the bike dealers to the east. Kirsten is there and it's great to see a familiar face. She's buying wet weather pants and I'm reminded of a conversation with Tony back in Canberra. He once tried to convince me that rain pants were essential equipment. I foolishly didn't heed his advice then and subsequently got soaked rotten in a thunderstorm. But that won't happen today: it's such a bright sunny day!
After heading north for roughly an hour we spot a sign for the Gravity Discovery Centre. It's an odd location for a tourist attraction because there's nothing but wild scrub for miles around. The main exhibit is the Leaning Tower of Gingin; a steel contraption 45 metres high where kids can recreate Galileo's famous experiment at Pisa. The centre is obviously aimed at kids so we don't stick around for long. We instead chat with the gardener who has recently bought a Rebel 250. He drools over the bikes we're riding and he clearly desires a bigger bike. I remember that feeling; just yesterday I wanted to upgrade to 1000cc.
Back on the road again the inevitable happens; it rains. I'm soaked through and it's terribly uncomfortable. I recall this morning's missed opportunity to buy wet weather pants and I can just imagine Tony chuckling away at my predicament. I hate it when I'm wrong.
We're coming up to one of the few attractions on this coast; The Pinnacles. They're a collection of odd rock formations rising out of the coastal sands. It's a fair detour from the highway and above The Pinnacles there's a seething mass of dark storm clouds that menace the skyline. The clouds are releasing rain in dense sheets that blot out the horizon. Dave turns to me, looking as wet and miserable as I feel, and says "I'm not ****ing riding into that ****ing ****". I'm in complete agreement.
With the light fading fast we make it as far as Port Denison before calling it quits. Kirsten must be questioning what she's signed herself up for because today was unpleasant.
After heading north for roughly an hour we spot a sign for the Gravity Discovery Centre. It's an odd location for a tourist attraction because there's nothing but wild scrub for miles around. The main exhibit is the Leaning Tower of Gingin; a steel contraption 45 metres high where kids can recreate Galileo's famous experiment at Pisa. The centre is obviously aimed at kids so we don't stick around for long. We instead chat with the gardener who has recently bought a Rebel 250. He drools over the bikes we're riding and he clearly desires a bigger bike. I remember that feeling; just yesterday I wanted to upgrade to 1000cc.
Back on the road again the inevitable happens; it rains. I'm soaked through and it's terribly uncomfortable. I recall this morning's missed opportunity to buy wet weather pants and I can just imagine Tony chuckling away at my predicament. I hate it when I'm wrong.
We're coming up to one of the few attractions on this coast; The Pinnacles. They're a collection of odd rock formations rising out of the coastal sands. It's a fair detour from the highway and above The Pinnacles there's a seething mass of dark storm clouds that menace the skyline. The clouds are releasing rain in dense sheets that blot out the horizon. Dave turns to me, looking as wet and miserable as I feel, and says "I'm not ****ing riding into that ****ing ****". I'm in complete agreement.
With the light fading fast we make it as far as Port Denison before calling it quits. Kirsten must be questioning what she's signed herself up for because today was unpleasant.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
This Is Your Captain Speaking
Today's first activity is something I really enjoy; flying around in small aircraft. I've booked a helicopter flight around Perth. Today's weather is just perfect for flying; almost no wind and no clouds with clear visibility to the horizon. I've never been in a helicopter before and I'm giddy with excitement as it flies into Burwood park. It's a Bell 206 and the pilot puts it down gently on the helipad.
Joining me are two other joyriders; Bernie and Sue. It's Sue's 60th birthday and she's never been in a helicopter before either. However whereas I'm barely able to stop hopping up and down, Sue looks a bit nervous. The young man who took our credit card details and gave us the safety brief doesn't help when he tells a story that involves a helicopter crash. He quickly realises his mistake but too late! It would be funny if it wasn't so cringeworthy.
The heli flight is the ducks guts. I think it's the best way to see a city. The pilot has a well-honed banter to go along with the flight and the entire cabin feels relaxed. When it's over Sue can't wipe the grin off her face and I'm sure I look the same. It's a magic start to the day.
I don't particularly feel like being in the Perth CBD today - too many people - so I get on the bike and head for the coast. The bike is free of baggage and it roars with delight. I head up to North Beach where there is a scenic road. The drive winds gently along the coastline, always in view of the beaches and ocean, with perfectly maintained roads. I feel relaxed already.
After lunch in Fremantle I decide I need something a bit more challenging. I've heard Toodyay Road is popular with the locals. It's a high speed ride through hills to the northeast of Perth. There are motorcycles everywhere... but it's a weekday, why aren't these people at work? I lean into a corner, going far too fast, feeling pretty pleased with myself, when a Duke hurtles past me like I'm standing still. Now I feel inadequate. I need a bigger bike.
I reach Toodyay all too quickly and it's getting dark so I head back to Perth. I picked the return perfectly; it's 5pm and the Perth streets are chockers with people returning home. The streets are three lanes wide, cars disappearing into the distance, and everybody is crawling along at 40kph. Oddly it's kind of relaxing. Unlike the feeling I get in Sydney and Melbourne (ohmigodimgoingtodie) this is far more sedate. It's a comforting end to the day.
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