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.
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