Farkling

Spent most of the day sorting out bits on the bike. Sorted out the air intake finally. Somebody had butchered it, meaning too much air got sucked into the mix, creating a starvation then vacuum problem. So we fixed it with a big washer, gaffer taped into place.

We also cleaned the air filters, sorted out the racks, removed the Christmas decorations, and I trimmed some of my bikes carried weight even more, so that I now have only minimal kit. Hopefully, she should be good to go. Next stop is the Taylor's Arms pub, better known in a song as ' the pub with no beer'. Only I hope it has some now as it's New Year's Eve and that's where we're off to.

Happy new year everybody!

Despite my efforts to shun all Christmas responsibilities, I still received a text from the boys in London; ‘ how do you cook parsnips?’ Never mind looking on google or You tube;  ‘we won’t have to bother with either if we text Mum. Then we can watch that well known Christmas favourite, Die Hard. Job done.' Funny and some use after all.

So no rain or snow on Christmas Day, nor any of the storms that are causing chaos in Europe. Instead it was muggy and warm. A short walk down to the beach then.

There were a few people about, picnicking on the grass in the park and on the beach, wearing paper Christmas hats, and no, not one of them was wearing moon boots or a Christmas jumper.

The skinks and lizards were having a good time too, out in force, sunning themselves on the warm rocks, and idly watching the humans with their weird head gear.

I do sometimes wonder if animals actually do notice when human behaviour changes. They are instinctive and perceptive, so why wouldn’t they be able to notice changes in us? Do they have their equivalent of a laugh at us or think we’re ridiculous? I reckon that they do but that we’re so arrogant that we underestimate them. Skinks and roos cope fine with nothing except a bit of sun and some food, are quite happy doing what they do; we are the greedy ones who struggle and constantly want more.

South West Rocks started life relatively recently as a coastal pilot station for shipping sailing up the Eastern coast of Australia, and approaching the Macleay River. And despite the beach now being fine sand, it used to be a rocky beach, and was then known as Cobble Beach. But the rocks disappeared - no one is quite sure how - leaving the sand that’s there today.

But apart from the rocks, nothing much has changed.

Smokey Cape       (Boxing Day)

It rained hard this morning, real pelting rain. We were planning on going for a ride but neither of us fancied getting soaked, so we wallowed in the room, playing on the net and editing photos. But by mid morning, there was no more water left in the sky, so out we went.

Smokey Cape just south of here sports a lighthouse and was actually a lookout used by Captain Cook who stopped here whilst sailing north on the Endeavour. You can see why too - unrestricted views in both directions and out to sea from up on high.

Its also a good whale watching point, Humpbacks and Right whales but there were none about today.

The name Smokey Cape came about because of the fires of indigenous people were burning along the coastline. Heavily forested and thus rich in timber for burning, it still retains much of the same appearance as two hundred years ago.

The road out there is a dead end through the rain forest. By the time we rode through it, the sun was out, drying up the recent rain into a tantalizingly fresh olefactory bonanza of eucalyptus; similar to a Radox bath but without the bubbles.

Then we chanced upon the little cafe at the end of the road, hidden amongst the trees, serving coffee and food. That was a good find, especially as it wasn’t all Christmassy and was just doing normal stuff, rather than festive left overs creations.

There was a pet bird in a cage there too. I’m not sure if he was some some of parakeet that looks like a galah or he actually was a galah, but he likes to chew anybody who tries to pet him, hence a cage and warning sign. But he is quite chatty and greets anybody who walks past.

Trial Bay gaol is just down the road too. A former work prison where convicts worked on a breakwater designed to offer ships travelling the eastern seaboard between Sydney and Brisbane shelter during storms, it was the only gaol built specifically to supply labour for a government project. 

It closed down closed down when ships became more efficient in the early 1900s, only to reopen again in WW1 as an internment camp housing German men.

The internees were mostly academics, craftsmen and other professionals, labelled ‘enemy aliens’,  and came from all over Australia and south east Asia. Some were Australian born but to German parents or parents from countries allied with the Germans. It sounds odd now to think that they were coralled and locked up, but I guess in times of war and heightened national security, that was a solution to what could have been a very real threat, the enemy within scenario. Hindsight and eventual outcome are two things decision makers rarely have when they need to act.

I many ways it was a similar concept to the homegrown terrorist threat that has emerged in the last twenty years, people born and belong to one country yet place their alleigence elsewhere, often to damage the home country. But they no longer get imprisoned for just having a different background.

The internment camp continued as such for several years before being abruptly shut after a German ‘u’ boat was supposedly spotted off the coast. The internees were transferred to Sydney where they sat out the rest of the war.

It rained again later in the afternoon but we missed another soaking as we saw it coming.

So with Christmas over and done with, and although it had passed me by without me hardly noticing, we planned to pack up, intending to move northwards towards Nabucca heads. But then Nadine called and invited us to Kempsey with her family. I am very aware that this time of the year in particular is family time, and was initially a little reluctant to accept for fear of imposing, but she was clear that that would not be the case, so off we went. And it was a good call, as well as a kind offer.

Her parents have a small farm with a few cattle and goats, and much flat grass on which to pitch tents. Her aunt, uncle and two cousins also stayed and camped. We had met them before in Sydney, so it was nice to see them  all all again.

Although I think that Australia does lack the atmosphere of a northern hemisphere Christmas, it has other advantages and is much easier to do stuff here around the holiday closures and seasonal annoyances. Whereas in London or Paris or Amsterdam, when you get fed up with the eating, TV or visitors, and venture out, whatever you do will always be limited by the cold and dark. But here its summer of course and the festivities don’t really affect anything otherwise.

So on that note,we took a drive up into some of the countryside round here, all nine of us comfortably accommodated in two 4 wheel drives. We didn’t go far in distance terms, but we did go up some pretty remote dirt tracks to Collombatti  lookout, with the Ocean, South west Rocks, Hat Head and Crescent Head, all laid out in the distance, separated from us by kilometer after kilometer of gum filled bush, undisturbed or interrupted by any visible settlement. 

The space and the remoteness is remarkable, although in Australian terms, this part of the country is relatively highly populated.

The corollary to the remoteness of course is nature, and blimey, is it noisy. I’ve been in cicada land many times before but the cicacadas that hang around here are something else. Their combined efforts make for an overall and extreme case of severe tinnitus, bombarding your ears with such a level of noise so that it becomes difficult to hear people speak. 120 decibels is not uncommon for a combined effort, and at a certain resonance they can damage human ears.

The noise is the mating call of the males who bang drum like membranes to attract females. Then they mate, and drop into the ground where they live under the surface for up to nine months before emerging, developing wings, then starting the whole process over again. The noise ceases too, which must be a relief. Carcases of newly adult cicadas adorn fence posts and trees, the tell tale split down their backs indicating where the fully grown creature has emerged into the world. They really do look like uber creepy monsterbugs, and now I’ve seen a few flying from tree to tree, I’m confident that they do actually exist.

One of the great things about camping is that there is only you and a wall of nylon between the open world, not great when its cold or you can hear strange creepy noises, but great when you can wake up to the sounds of a new day starting.

I woke at about 0430, just as it was getting light, to the sound of frogs, croaking away like emphesmic old men, then various birds came to, testing their voices for a day of sqwarking  and trilling ahead, then cows and goats, more bids, and finally cicacdas, which topped everything. 

The light changed too, from a cool grey to a pale blue, then various shades of ever lightening orange which twinkled through dew drops on the grass, until finally, the whole sky was blinding white with the sun above the horizon, drying the dew and masking the little delights that make early morning so special.

It’s hot now though, a relentless 37ºc, dry heat and too hot to be outside for long. A wind is building and with it, bringing a few clouds and a bit of a haze. But its sorted the bugs - no more biting horseflies or smaller housefly things that nip you when you least expect it. 

Later on, same day.

We drove down to Crescent Head for a swim in the ocean. But the wind was so strong and  was blasting everything with so much sand, that we gave that a miss and took a dip in the creek instead. A pleasant way to cool down.

Blimey, its Christmas Day !

So Happy Christmas everybody. For the first time ever, I'm doing none of it - no mince pies, no cooking the dinner, no drinking sherry as soon as I wake up ( I like sherry,ok?) no cat climbing the tree and getting resin in her fur, then pooing out needles and chewed up tinsel, no pressies, and no snow and cold. Great. Just going to potter and do my own thing all day.

And catch up on the blog.

One of the reasons I try and blog daily is because its so easy to forget what I've done, who I've met and what I've seen if I don't. If I really can't, I make  notes, then try and do it the next day.  But three sleeps have slipped by this time......whoops.

A  couple of interesting facts which I forgot to mention when I found them out. 

1. Port Arthur in Tasmania is a commercialised historical site, organised and managed as part of a heritage programme, and a good job of what it sets out to do. However, a few kms away in the bush, there is another convict town. Only this one is derelict and overgrown, left as it was when abandoned. It's not generally mentioned because the locals don’t want the tourism or developers but I'd like to have seen it. Sounds interestingly creepy.

2. The railway from Cootamundra northwards  negotiates a steep incline over some hills. According to John the mechanic, there is one particular hill around where the track passes through twice. Its known locally as ‘the loop‘ and in the lore of railway stuff, it's a very well known feature and unique to the area. 

So in the last few days and after finding a camp spot near Crescent Head, we went wandering.

Port Macquarie, known locally as ‘Port’ is not far  away, but a bit of drag along dirt roads and highway to get there. When we got back, some local blokes who told us of a dirt road short cut which would have saved us quite a few kms. But it wasn't on the pa and we had no signal to search on the net. Oh well.

Anyway, Port is OK, a town with the usual stuff surrounded by beaches, and a line of painted rocks long the waterfront. 

It apparently started about 20 years ago when somebody decided to graffiti a rock or two but with a message rather than just a tag. The idea caught on so that now that whole waterfront is framed by them. 

Some are memorials, some family ‘we were here’ type markers, others are from travellers passing through on a big trip, birthday wishes, engagement stones, and other odds and ends. There is hardly a naked rock left and they make a pretty cool feature.

But how do these things catch on and develop, rather than get cleared up? It didn’t happen overnight, and  somebody took a bit of time and effort to do it. But who let it stay? And why? It's a bit like the padlock thing on bridges, and like them, far from being and eyesore, it adds interest to the town.

The cicadas here are out in force at the moment, doing their noise thing. Yet try as I might to spot them, I have yet to see any. They are either very well camouflaged or its a recording somebody has put here to add a bit of ‘wild’ to wild camping. I am still undecided as to which version it is though.

Once they start, the noise audibly builds into complete wall of surround sound that Mr Dolby and Mr Spector would be proud of, but then you cease to notice it anymore - until it suddenly stops and the silence  hits you. It sounds like ice on the electricity wires in the winter, only much louder, a sort of mad buzzing vibration. Funny how nature resembles man sometimes, although no resemblance is actually intended.

There are nesting turtles on the beach here too but I can't find any info as to when they are around, and crabs too. On the beach in the morning, little 3cm wide holes going down about 15cms, with small piles of excavated sand outside, give the latter away. I saw a few but the were too quick for me to get a picture.

Hat Head

After a few jobs in Kempsey, where it was very hot, we nipped into Subway for a take away sandwich. It could have been Subway in Mitcham or Streatham, with the same customers, squeezed into the same clothes, sporting the same tattoos, behaving in the same way while buying their lunch.

Even the woman shrieking questions about sandwich ingredients to  people scattered across the place, playing on their phones and completely unaware of other customers waiting to be served, was straight out of south London.

But the sandwich was good and we ate it on the beach at Hat Head. We had intended to walk there, and take a closer look at the gums and rain forest that come right down to the water but it was very windy and the airborne sand made it difficult to see, so we gave up on that one.

It's also a grey nurse shark territory, where young ones are born and old ones come to die. Grey Nurse sharks are supposed to be nice sharks, not bitey ones like the others, but I'm not convinced. We didn't see any anyhow, but I stayed on terra firm just incase, even if most of the terra firm was flying about in the air.

South West Rocks

Christmas Eve and it was time to move onto South West Rocks and the hotel for Christmas Day and Boxing Day. It's only about 60 kms from Crescent Head which is just as well as we are silly overloaded and the bikes are quite unwieldily. The weight issue will have to be sorted soon, with stuff being chucked.

But as I was packing up, i found this caterpillar on my tent. Fluro green with porthole markings down the side and a horn on its head, I thought it best not to touch it. So I pushed it with a stick to try and dislodge it. Cheeky thing immediately tried to get me with the horn thing, so the stick was a good call. 

It's all pasture land round here, cattle, horses, green fields and things for sale at farm gates, interspersed with the odd blow up Santa and tinselled sleighs. But it's Christmas and effort is a must.

We stopped at Gladstone for a bite to eat as we were running early. The town cafe/ shop served really good for and turned out to be a quite a hub and hive of activity as we sat there.

I love these local places as people come up and chat, always, and without fail. We were only there an hour or so but in that time met some really great people.....

a 93 year old Dutch lady who had lived in Australia since 1952 but still had the strongest Dutch accent ever. She was from Amsterdam and in the space of 15 minutes, told me what it was like in the Netherlands immediately after WW2, that her mother had died of a stomach complaint, that she and her children had taken English classes in Holland before they left for Australia, that her husband worked on a dairy farm and milked cows by hand, and that she loved animals. And all while eating her sandwich - the telling me, not the milking.

Ray, who was dating the Dutch lady's daughter and had only known her for three weeks but was Mum sitting while daughter worked. He is a local dairy farmer and offered us his house for Christmas as he will be away. He even said there was milk in the fridge.

Bonny the Collie, just 12 months old and excited to be in town.

A landscape gardener who'd lived in London in his youth and loved it. He hurt his shoulder last week using a whacker, and had just been to the doctor to stock up on morphine to tide him over Christmas.

Shona who worked in the shop, had a Scottish father, English mother and a gran from Manchester who never lost her accent. Shona admitted to itchy feet and can't get over how Europeans can (and do) wander from country to country because we can, just to look at stuff. She was really chatty and I had a good old jaw with her.

But the time came to move on and get to the hotel, so we reluctantly left. The hotel is nice, with a pool and laundry in which to wash our now very filthy riding gear. Unfortunately I also washed my iPod, thus buggering it. Good job I have a spare then.

Before the washing fiasco, we nipped into town for food for the next two days. Amazingly, we seem to have timed it right as it wasn't busy. Shop staff were all dressed up....or were they? Maybe this is how they look year round; after all, this Australia place does have some funny old ways. But Lora at the check out was still cheerful, despite the weight of her antlers.

Round up and more to follow

Phew, not had a lot of time to blog in the past few days as we’ve been busy.

The ongoing saga of my defective clutch kept ongoing. It turned out that the spares people in Brisbane had sent the bits next day as they said they would, and the bits had arrived in Cootamunda. Unfortunately, the courier there did nothing with them but told our mechanic bloke that they hadn’t arrived. So we were stuck there for three days when just one would have sufficed. But it was ok as it was a nice place, we had some good time off the bike, and we met some great local people, swum in the pool, bubbled in the jacuzzi, and ate some very nice food. Oh and drunk some wine. And all for not alot of money.

Unfortunately for the courier, he narked the mechanic so much that he was sacked. Apparently he’d done it before, so no more money from them for him, which was a bit daft on his part as it had been a nice little earner. But the mechanic’s parting gift to him was three motorbikes for which he had been waiting several days, and again, the courier had denied all knowledge of their arrival. So he declined delivery of them, meaning that the courier will have to return them to Sydney at his own expense. And all because he was an arse.

However, the downside for us was time loss. Nadine had to be up in Kempsey for her Mum’s birthday (Dec 21st) but there was now no way we could make such a huge distance in the time available. So we hired a van in Sydney. Nadine and I jumped on the 0135 Sydney train, nearly missed it while we waited as we fell asleep, got there, had a quick poke around the city as we couldn’t get it till noon, then drove back to Cootamundra. 

Meanwhile, Gordon chivvied the repairs, got the invoice, took bits off the bikes, and waited for us.

After a brief stop in Katoomba in the Blue Mountains, we arrived back in Cootamundra about 1930hrs, loaded everything into the van, and then set off north  again, sleeping at Goulburn, before continuing at 0645 for the remainder of the drive. 

It was a long old haul, but we made it to Kempsey for about 1400 hours, unloaded our bikes, and Nadine went off to do the birthday thing.

As we sorted our stuff in the carpark, Laurie and Cath pulled up in their camping ute. Fellow wanderers, they chatted to us as we tied things on and tried to squash extra kit onto our long suffering posties. Most of it will be going soon, but for now, we're stuck with it.

And they made us a cup of tea, which was very welcome. They’re off to Newcastle for a family Christmas before clearing off again.

Much to my surprise, the extra kit didn’t affect my bike too much, and we made it to Goolawah Regional Park without incident and camped next to the beach. 

There are a few people here which is nice, but its nowhere near crowded. And as I was still covered in oil and dust from the bike loading,I jumped in the ocean for a wash and a bit of a splash about in the surf, keeping one eye out for sharks. It would be my luck to finally get the bike purring perfectly, only to have my leg nibbled and not be able to ride it.

Exploring Cootamundra

Well, we’re still in Cootamundra as the parts needed for my bike are coming from Brisbane and won't be here until tomorrow. Hopefully. So that meant a day off the bikes looking around and chilling in the cold snap - only 35c degrees today instead of 39c.

The people here are really nice, particularly in the motel. 
I spoke to the lady this morning and told her about the bike breaking down and that we might need to stay again tonight, but in any case, could we please delay our checkout until midday? And we would of course pay. But not only did she agree to all of that but also waived the extra cash for overstaying the 10.00am deadline. What a nice lady.

So after a brief walk around, the first thing we did today was check out the Cootamundra Heritage Centre, a little place run on a shoestring where they’ve collected bits and pieces from Cootamundra life over the years, and displayed it in the old gaol building. It’s right by the railway line and there used to be a barracks for rail workers there. 

There was all sorts in there, including a model diary thing that a local man had made in the 1950s, depicting various events in Cootamundra life.

Things like the biggest kangaroo ever killed. Imagine that jumping over your back fence.

Various weather extremes. I think 119ºF equates to 45ºC.

And one offs.

Donald Bradman, the cricketer was born in Cootamundra, although he grew up in Bowral, a bit further west and nearer Sydney. 

Granny Scholtz, a woman from Northern Ireland delivered him in a little cottage that she ran as a hospital.

There is also a Cricket Captain Walk, where sculptures of Australian cricket captains are displayed. I wasn’t very pleased about paying that a visit after the recent Ashes debacle, but I went anyway, just to see what it was about and so I never have to go there again. And it was free. Not that I would have paid to see the enemy of course.

For a small town, there are a surprising number of eateries in Coota’, with some interesting menu choices. 

And my favourite. Pissoles. Yum

But highlight of the day was meeting Dave Collins, an aboriginal artist who had just opened a gallery showcasing his stuff. What a nice bloke, and his gallery was really cool, with some great work. I hope he does very well. It's a shame we’re on motorcycles and have no homes because this is the sort of stuff I would have in my place, no worries. (He's on the right.)

Check him out at www.davesart.com.au.

After a bit of grocery shopping, we wandered back ‘home’ and jumped in the pool. So nice.

BTW, I have developed a new skill - chatting to the birds by mimicing their calls. I started with galahs and then wattle birds because they are easy, and they chat back if you imitate them. 

It's great, and people wonder what's going on but wallowing in the jacuzzi tonight, I had a really good convo with the local Wattle bird gang. I might have a bit of an accent but I’m getting better and they certainly appreciate the effort.