York Motorcycle Festival

Red Dwarf & Red Devil.

We were on the road early for our Sunday ride to the York Motorcycle Festival. As we made our way through the suburbs we wished the townsfolk had slept in a little longer and willed the sun to rise out of our eyes. The Brookton Highway soon cleared the way and we smelt the breath of the open road, beckoning us onward and eastward. For a moment I felt like I would be on the road again for a long time.

We drank black tea in a road side lay-by and waved to other bikers as they rode by, all of us on our way to the same destination. We peeled off the highway onto West Dale Road and enjoyed the curves and the quiet of this great bikers lane. I saw a tin-top hooting along one of the ridges and felt certain he wasn't going to make the next bend, so I backed off a little, and sure enough he took up all of my lane before gaining control again. As we passed through Beverley we caught up with another biker and enjoyed riding together for a while, like caring companions, but we would never meet.

Bikes everywhere.

York was a picture as we rode into town. We were marshalled to a parking spot outside the town hall and then we settled in at Bella Cucina Cafe and watched the bike world ride in. We walked the main street, eyeing the bikes and enjoying the entertainment. I was disappointed not to see any "bikies" as it always feels good to dance with the devil, sometimes.

By 1pm we were back on the road again retracing our steps. I found myself smiling all the while as I called out the names of the creeks and the rivers and the banks and the bridges as they passed beneath the wheels of my trusted friend.

Burn Bagpipes Burn!

We took our pit stop at Karragullen Roadhouse and hung-out for a while with some bikers we know. I caught "Mr Speedster" eyeing Devil (F650GS Twin) and I said "can't lend her to you 'cos you'll break it." Riding home in the hot afternoon sun reminded me about the merits of buying a white helmet next time.

We were safely home by 4pm. The day had been full of the magic of motorcycling and the York Motorcycle Festival will certainly be in our calendar next year.

Test Ride Trangia 25/8

Preparation.

The arrival of our new camping stove was the only excuse we needed to load up the bikes and go for a ride to Pemberton. The simplicity and safety of these stoves had caught my eye many years ago when we were camping with another biker. We bought the Trangia 25/8, the set with the big pots, all hard anodised, and a kettle.

We couldn't manage to ride past the Waroona bakery without stopping and we left the bikes in the shade while we sat on the veranda eating pies and drinking coffee. Then we were on the road again enjoying the curves through the Ferguson Valley.

Great to be back in the tent.

The little town of Balingup provided our next pit stop. This is a great place with a great vibe and there are eateries everywhere. Then the Blackwood River Road led the way to Nannup. Unlike Balingup, Nannup is so laid back that nearly all the coffee and souvenir shops displayed "closed" signs in their windows.

The road south to Pemberton was open and honest and as we rode through pockets of tall timbers it was like magic, the trees towering above as we glided along. The caravan park at Pemberton was welcoming and by 4pm we were sitting at our camp, smiling all the while, with a beer in one hand and a fly swat in the other.

Curry Cook.

Even though there was a camp kitchen not far away we were determined to cook our curry and rice on our new, single burner, methylated spirit stove. This how we went about it:

·         Boil water for rice and place in thermos.
·         Cook curry and set aside.
·         Boil rice and set aside.
·         Reheat curry.
·         Serve dinner.

The wind protection on these stoves is second to none and our meal was cooked without any fuss. The pots were easy to move around with the clip on handle and they all cleaned up with the use of a soft cloth; I was impressed.

Steve and I are big tea drinkers and at breakfast Steve took on the role of "hot water manager." The little 900ml kettle worked hard to keep up with our daily requirements but by the time breakfast was over we had boiled over four litres of water; I never thought boiling water could be so much fun.

Now know why it's named Windy Harbour!

After breakfast we took the bikes on a local run to Northcliffe and Windy Harbour. It was blowing a full gale as we looked out over the southern ocean and our tea cooled quickly in the howling breeze. When we arrived back at Northcliffe I opened my top box, grabbed my bum bag, closed it again and then exclaimed "what's that smell?" I quickly opened it again to find that the bottle of red wine had broken free and amongst the broken glass lay a red dyed mess of hessian bags, magazines and Steve's towel. We weren't meant to suffer too much for this incident as only 10 meters away was town water. As we rinsed I could hear Steve mumbling, after all it was my fault, but I didn't take any notice. The worst thing was that some of the fragments of green glass were the size of small gemstones and were reluctant to be washed out of the top box.

Salmon Beach.

That night we treated ourselves and dined at the pub in Pemberton. Sitting on that veranda with a good brew of beer and eating the best lamb shanks ever will make me smile for a long time.

We were on the road early for the ride home. The south easterly was still blowing hard and as we rode through the tall timbers once more some of the big karri's were dropping bark big enough to wrap a motorcycle helmet. The shadows were long and we backed off a little. Sure enough we came around one bend to find two large kangaroos in the middle of the road; we backed off a little more after that.

We stopped for tea on the waterfront in Busselton and then dined on bronze whaler and chips overlooking the harbour in Bunbury. It was hot by the time we got back on the bikes and we were planning to ride home to Safety Bay without stopping. Little did we know that only 20 kilometres north of Bunbury there had been an accident and the police were preparing to divert the traffic. It was about then, while we tried to communicate with each other in the searing heat with our ear plugs in, Steve asked me "could you please learn to speak louder without raising your voice."

Steve spotted a road he recognised and the cops let us go so we took off east towards the South West Highway. The highway was packed with detourers heading in both directions and we desperately needed to stop for a drink of water. We missed our opportunities at Waroona and Pinjarra and when we found some shade the road verge was too steep to get the side stands down. So we rode on in the 37degree heat and arrived home a little frustrated and dehydrated. Two litres of cold water later and we were all smiles again and talking about the magic of motorcycling; we wouldn't miss a run on the bikes for anything.

Cape D'Entercasteaux.

Broome to Perth

Saying goodbye to Cable Beach, Broome.

Once we had made the decision to ride straight home after our Broome stopover, we both started to look forward to four days on the road.

On the first day we had a wonderful outback ride to Port Hedland. The wind was behind us and Devil’s fuel consumption was down to a mere 3.6lt/100km. South of Port Hedland we took the inland route and the scenery all the way to Newman was nothing short of spectacular. We pitched the little tent at Kumarina Roadhouse and enjoyed sharing stories with the dudes that escort the wide loads on this section of the Great Northern Highway. With the falling temperatures, our cold meat and salad didn’t seem very appetising so Steve cooked up a storm on our little camp stove so we had something warm in our bellies.

Great Northern Highway, near Port Hedland.

The following day we trundled southward some more, through the desert country and the townships of Meekatharra and Mt Magnet. It’s hard to see that anything could live out here but we still had to keep an eye out for the cattle on the side of the road. The comforting tail wind had been replaced by a strong south westerly headwind and the turbulence, at the rear of the trucks, made us hang on tight when we passed each northbound road train. The heated grips were on all day and by the time we pitched the tent at Paynes Find Roadhouse the sky was completely overcast and we had to deploy all the guy ropes to prevent the tent collapsing in the 60km/hour wind. Further south, some of the wide loads had to delay their departure because of the 100km/hour wind gusts. We picked a good night to dine in the roadhouse tavern and I devoured a delicious plate full of lamb chops, mash, and veggies, swilled down with a glass of sauvignon blanc. I love staying at outback roadhouses. At around sunset, when the road trains drivers stop for dinner, I get the opportunity to gaze upon the awesome splendour of the trucks.

Of course it’s not over until the fat lady sings. When we crawled out of our tent at 5:30am on the last day, the air was filled with a fine mist. Daybreak revealed that Paynes Find was clouded in a thick winter fog. We both went quiet as we packed up the little tent for the last time and by 7am we were ready for the road. Steve took the lead. 80km/hr was the fastest we dared to go in the poor visibility. Several road trains caught us up as they had less to lose by driving at 100km/hr. When they appeared in my rear view mirror I put on my hazard lights until I was sure they had seen me. Steve was riding four seconds in front but I couldn’t see him. We rode on, but without a breath of wind the fog wasn’t lifting. Instead of being able to muse over the wonders of our six month ride around Australia, we had to endure our most difficult and dangerous 100km of the entire trip. At one point I shook my fist in the air and called out something that was unrepeatable. Every time we passed a lay-by, and Steve didn’t stop, I called out something else. After an hour it seemed like we would be riding in fog for the rest of our lives. Then about 30km outside Wubin, the fog cleared and before us lay the most beautiful green pastures I had ever seen. The sun shone and the fog was soon forgotten and we had a wonderful winter ride all the way home to Safety Bay. As we rode the last 50km towards home I didn’t feel elation for our home coming or commiseration for the life we were about to leave behind. It was just time to come home.

Only 1,000km to home.



Kununurra to Broome

Koolama resting in Wyndham Harbour.

We made Kununurra our base for our East Kimberley tour and we settled in on the dusty powered site allocated to us. The outback town of Wyndham will always hold a special place in my heart, as the old harbour is the resting place for the state ship Koolama. I was so taken when I learnt about Koolama’s last voyage, I wrote a song about her for my “Songsin the Key of Sea” album. As I looked out to sea from the five rivers lookout I noticed myself singing “Koolama, Koolama, how are you? I’m resting in old Wyndham harbour.”

Zebedee Springs.

We were sucked in by all the hype and we took Dwarf (R1200GS) for a run out to Zebedee Springs. Zebedee is part of the El Questro Wilderness Park but it’s a wilderness that is found by hundreds of people every day. As you enter the car park a signpost reads “If the carpark is full, so too are the springs. Please visit another time.” We were lucky to arrive just as group of people were leaving the top pool. Steve and I took ownership of the tiny hot tub but that didn’t deter a family of five joining us for a bath. The pressure on this thermal spring has to be seen to be believed. The general public must vacate the springs by midday, then the tour busses move in; wilderness? I don’t think so. Emma Gorge was more able to absorb the numbers and we enjoyed a walk and a swim in the natural pool at the top of the gorge.

Red Dwarf.

The ride from Kununurra to Halls Creek is nothing short of spectacular. The Kimberley landscape, with towering hills and escarpments in every direction, is impenetrable and I felt the environment seemed more hostile than the Nullarbor. At Warmun roadhouse I spoke to one of the locals and we both agreed that it was the rocky hills and valleys that made it seem this way. When the terrain returned to open plain it seemed “safer” in my mind’s eye.

The roadhouse at Halls Creek was full to the brim when we pulled in for fuel at midday. Amongst the hustle to complete the refuelling as quickly as possible, Steve pumped 12 litres of diesel into the R1200GS. Steve realised when he tried to put the slightly larger diesel nozzle into Devil’s (F650GS) intake and Devil said “no.” The air was blue for a while but luckily Steve hadn’t started the big GS and she looked like a beached whale, tucked away in the corner of the roadhouse car park, while we figured out what to do. We got the RAC involved, as the roadhouse had no means of siphoning and then disposing of the contaminated fuel. A quick call to our BMW dealer in Perth confirmed that our strategy of siphoning the fuel out of the tank, then half filling the tank and siphoning again should work out just fine. Some of the local kids were fascinated by the bikes and they wanted to know “how much?” while they stroked the BMW badge on Devil’s tank. When I said “hey guys, just look, please don’t touch,” they did what they were told. Under the stress of the moment Steve and I started snapping at each other and I noticed an old Aboriginal man looking sad and concerned as he watched what was going on. All is well that ends well and the big GS ran as sweet as a nut on that lick of diesel.

Geikie Gorge, Fitzroy Crossing.

We spent the night in the caravan park at Halls Creek and when we walked into town for a bite to eat we found the best biltong ever at the local butcher. The chef at Russian Jacks cooked us a great pizza and the waitress told us to help ourselves to a complementary bowl of salad; when we went to bed that night we were all smiles again.

Fitzroy Crossing was another wonderful outback surprise. When we last passed this way, way back in 1985, Halls Creek and Fitzroy Crossing were places to avoid. These days you can pitch your tent on a patch of grass, and at Fitzroy River Lodge you also get the use of the resort pool; excellent value.

The scenery on the ride from Fitzroy Crossing to Broome is less dramatic as the Kimberley landscape gives way to the red dusty plains that are reminiscent of the Pilbara. There are plenty of stray cattle on the side of the road but you begin to feel a little more street wise, after thousands of outback miles, and you start to make judgements on what the cattle are likely to do. I slowed down for one lone beast that was facing the road and sure enough he galloped to the other side just meters in front of me.

Sunset at Cable Beach.

When we arrived in Broome we checked into the Palm Grove Caravan Park only to find that the camp site they had allocated to us was in “tent city,” an area full of backpackers working for a living. We stood there for a while looking at the dust bowl with no shade while one of the friendly dudes explained that they party pretty hard and he had been evicted from Cable Beach Caravan Park not long ago. After listening to this we did something we had never done before. I went straight back to the office and asked for our $220 back. Our rent was refunded without a question and now we are happily camped at Cable Beach.

We will hang out in Broome for a while, soaking up the last of the warm weather before riding home to Perth.

Darwin to Western Australia

Wangi Falls.

As we rode south, away from Darwin, I felt myself bunker down in the saddle, happy to be riding again. I could have ridden all day long and I didn’t really feel like visiting Litchfield National Park which was only an hour and a half down the road. Still we have come so far, and who knows if we will ever pass this way again, so I forced Devil (F650GS) to turn right and enjoy the run through the park to Wangi Falls. The road into the park twists and turns and tightens up, and is challenging for those who don’t wish to obey the 80km/hr speed limit. On one bend, a menacing tin top was half way into my lane before his forgiving front wheel drive vehicle brought him back onto his side of the road.

We found a good camp site at Wangi Falls and the $13.20 per night National Park camping fees made a welcome change to the $40 we paid in Darwin. The swimming hole at Wangi is dramatic beyond anything I could have imagined. The beauty of the twin falls tumbling 50 meters into a natural pool surrounded by palms and pandanas trees must be seen to be believed. Even though signposts said “fresh water crocodiles inhabit this area,” I joined hundreds of Darwin day-trippers and spent hours exploring the length and breadth of the 50 meter pool.

Steve, Jose, Jane & Pilar.

At Wangi Falls we met Jose Garcia and Pilar Moreno (Aventures En Moto). Jose has completed two Dakar rallies and now he is one year into an overland tour from Spain, on an R1200GS, two-up. From my king sized camp chair, I enjoyed watching their simple setup, knowing all along that I wouldn’t enjoy long term travel without the creature comforts of our big tent and a cold beer at the end of the day.

After three days fending off mosquitoes every time I went to the toilet, I wasn’t sorry to leave Litchfield. The part of Litchfield that we explored just seemed like a bunch of beautiful swimming holes and didn’t have the spiritual aspect that I found in Kakadu. Unfortunately I’d picked up an insect bite in Darwin which had formed into a ripening blister in the sweltering heat and was showing signs of infection under the skin. When the ranger did his rounds I showed him the bite and he said “Oh, are you sure that’s a mozzie or a sandfly?” The pharmacist in Katherine made a similar comment.

We spent a comfortable night in our little tent in Katherine and then we set off for Western Australia. I absolutely love these days on the road. It is a time when I am all alone, just me and my bike. My thoughts drift from admiring the stunning scenery and landscape, to things I have learnt along the way. I may recite a poem or sing a song. Sometimes I think of the folks back home and the ones who have passed on long ago. All the while I am smiling and every mile is like magic; therapy for the soul.

Only 3,500km from the border to home.

We felt like we had arrived in Western Australia about 200km before the border, when the landscape changed to what we have come to know as The Kimberley. We were quickly through the border quarantine inspection point and by 3pm we were relaxing in the infinity pool at Lake Argyle. Both the cold water and the sweeping views took our breath away; some folks spend two weeks convalescing in this spectacular man made attraction.

So here we are, back in our home state. By the clock it’s dark at 5:30pm; something we will have to get used to.

Lake Argyle.

Darwin

Oil changes and new tyres are a necessary evil when you travel long distances and we made contact with the BMW service agent, in Darwin, well in advance of our arrival on 29^th June. $2300 later and Devil (F650GS Twin) and Dwarf (R1200GS) were back in our care. If everything is still working when we are 1000km down the road we’ll forgive them for making us feel like we were ripped off.

We arrived in Darwin just in time for firecracker night. This once a year event is held on Territory Day and punters take the opportunity to buy fireworks and enjoy their own firecracker show. We stayed home on the 1^st July, but unfortunately our home was next door to the show grounds which were a designated “safe” zone for letting off crackers. Consequently from 5pm until midnight we were subjected to a continuous barrage of bangs, cracks and pops. The following morning, news radio reported that the fire brigade attended 200 call outs and eight people were taken to hospital with minor injuries; only in the Territory.

Sunset from Seafood on Cullen,
Cullen Bay Marina, Darwin.

Dining out in Darwin can be an inexpensive experience if you pick the right places and we made the most of our city stopover and gave the caravan park barbecue’s a rest. We fully recommend the all you can eat steak and seafood buffet at Seafood on Cullen; at $38.50 this meal represents excellent value. We gorged on salt and pepper squid, scallops, chilli mud crabs and garlic prawns.

The Darwin Sailing Club still makes visitors feel welcome and we thoroughly enjoyed sitting in the shade and looking out over the yachts anchored in Fanny Bay. Twenty years ago, when we were travelling aboard our yacht, Roma II, most of the visiting yachts anchored off the Darwin Sailing Club and the club was a hive of cruising activity. These days, Darwin boasts three marinas and the visiting yachts are spread far and wide in the Northern Territory capital; we felt a little of the cruising charm has been lost as a result.

Our week in Darwin seemed far too long, however I always take something with me from every place we visit. From Darwin I take the knowledge that white ants are not ants, they are cockroaches.

Kakadu National Park

Yellow Water.

The road from Pine Creek to Jabiru showed a few squiggles on the map and Devil (F650GS Twin) and Dwarf (R1200GS) really enjoyed themselves. We bought our national park passes at the Mary River Roadhouse and then we were into the park. As we rode along I tried to identify the creek crossing where in 1985, when the road was still gravel, Steve and I had “walked through” first to test the depth of the water. The road is sealed now, and all the creek crossings have little bridges.

By lunch time, we were both feeling the heat and we decided to treat ourselves to lunch at Cooinda Lodge. This idea lasted until Steve saw the $28 price tag on a hamburger. After that, we parked the bikes at Yellow Water and had a cup of tea and an apple instead. It is wonderful to gaze upon the wetlands at Yellow Water and we were fortunate that the flood waters had receded and the boardwalk had just opened. Near the boat ramp, a 4.5m croc was showing off in the water. He seemed to be having fun parading his full length and strength to the punters on the cruise boats.

Nourlangie.

We picked Kakadu Lodge, in Jabiru, for our Kakadu experience and by mid afternoon we had checked in for four nights. By now we were so hot that we decided to swim first and put the tent up later. While we were cooling off in the pool, Steve counted the number of times we had put the tent up on this trip and he came up with 42.

Ubirr rock art.

The following morning we joined in our first ranger presentation at Nourlangie. Kakadu National Park employs six rangers during the dry season to provide interpretive presentations at various cultural and geological sites around the park. These presentations are free and provide an interesting way of learning about the park. Most national parks have information boards for you to read. Kakadu has these too, but to join in a ranger presentation takes the learning experience to a whole new level. The rangers bring along artefacts, like a crocodile skull and ancient Aboriginal tools and you have the opportunity to ask questions. I was really taken by the lessons on Aboriginal kinship and law. We enjoyed our day at Nourlangie so much, that during our stay in Kakadu we joined in presentations at Mamukala Wetlands, Ubirr, and a slide presentation on Estuarine Crocodiles. While we were enjoying the rock art in the main gallery at Ubirr, ranger Joel pointed out the intricate detail in the paintings. We couldn’t see this detail with our naked eyes, but through the binoculars the level of detail was amazing. Through the ranger presentations, our visit to Kakadu was transformed into an enlightening experience and has left us wanting to learn more about Aboriginal culture.

The bird observatory at Mamukala Wetlands is a bird watchers paradise. We spent hours watching the little Jacana’s walking on the water lilies. Timing is everything and if you happen to be at Cahills Crossing, the border to Arnhem Land, towards high tide, you can watch the crocodiles feeding on mullet and barramundi as the fish are swept upstream in the swirling water. From the safety of the lookout the crocodiles came so close to us that you could see the colour of their eyes. I am still amazed that they only have a brain the size of a walnut.

When we rode away from Jabiru, I peered into each little billabong and looked in wonder at the beautiful Pandanas trees. This is the first place we have visited that I didn’t want to leave. I feel a strong connection with Kakadu and I know one day I will return.