The bikes are ready to go again, having been tweaked and oiled and TLC'd. Gordon's clutch is fixed and he has finally shed some of the excess load he was carrying although there is still room for improvement.
My bike is also substantially lighter having shed much of the excessive 'extras' that had been fitted to it. All my stuff fits in the panniers with room to spare, with cooking stuff carried in the almost empty ortlieb bag across the rack.
It took us a while to leave the campsite because as usual, people wanted to come up and chat about where we were going. But that's ok, it's good that they're interested and make the effort. When we finally did escape, a whole posse of kids waved us off. Funny.
It's been about rainy and humid today, even chilly at times. But we didn't ride far anyway, so it was ok. Over the ferry from last night's campsite, along the dirt road again, then onto Gladstone where we popped into the same place where we'd stopped before Christmas.
The staff recognised us and wanted to know where we'd been since our first visit. The daphne the postie rocked up on her postie bike, and was stunned to discover that actually, although they are not speed machines, they do go faster than the 60kph that she'd presumed was her top speed. But not much.
The staff recognised us and wanted to know where we'd been since our first visit. The daphne the postie rocked up on her postie bike, and was stunned to discover that actually, although they are not speed machines, they do go faster than the 60kph that she'd presumed was her top speed. But not much.
After leaving Gladstone, I came very close to getting wiped up. Its the closest call I've had yet, and totally down to the offending driver's inability to drive. A red P plater ( just off learner plates) driving a Honda Jazz overtook which was fine.........but then cut in so closely and right across me that I had to brake to avoid hitting her rear wing. Fortunately, I was ready for her, having seen her approach in my mirror, but what a dozy tart. I don't think she even realised how close she came.
Its easy to assume that cut ups like this happen because people are stuck behind our slow moving bikes, or because they're just aggy, as that is definitely what would happen in London. But its not the case here at all. On small roads where its hard to pass, we pull into turnouts or onto the shoulder lane to let traffic by, and its never yet caused any hassle. In fact, we get tooted and thanked virtually every time.
And if we can't we ride in a block so that the 'hazard' is visible and drivers can assess us as one moving block, not a series of things at varying speeds to nip in between. But on these country roads, its down to driver inexperience. The roads are virtually empty, and although most operate the car effectively, the general road sense is appalling and most drivers ( excepting those who drive for work or in busier conditions) don't read the road because they don't have to; they don't get challenged. They drive alone ( as in without other traffic) and so their need to avoid others or assess what problems other drivers might present for them, doesn't get honed.
Rather than scan the road ahead, identify a hazard, plan their route around it and then do what they have to do smoothly and rationally, so many zoom up, panic and then react. And many of the reactions are well over the top. Its the 'suddenly' factor of accidents; ' suddenly this happened' or 'suddenly that happened'. I heard that one so many times as a cop investigating prangs, yet when you probe what they actually did immediately before hitting whatever they hit, its invariably the same answer; they failed to plan anything and overreacted. Of course, there are occasions when something totally unexpected and unavoidable happens, but they are so rare that they don't feature that often. And that certainly wasn't the case yesterday when the dippy P plater bird did her thing.
But I survived ( again) and made it to Scotts Head where we bought some food and then met a couple, of which woman knew Nadine's mum. Its a small world sometimes.
And we all know how Australians like to pinch things from other countries and cultures, insist they invented or discovered it and it's 100% Aussie owned/made/ grown/bred or whatever. But this was just a bit too ridiculous....
Its easy to assume that cut ups like this happen because people are stuck behind our slow moving bikes, or because they're just aggy, as that is definitely what would happen in London. But its not the case here at all. On small roads where its hard to pass, we pull into turnouts or onto the shoulder lane to let traffic by, and its never yet caused any hassle. In fact, we get tooted and thanked virtually every time.
And if we can't we ride in a block so that the 'hazard' is visible and drivers can assess us as one moving block, not a series of things at varying speeds to nip in between. But on these country roads, its down to driver inexperience. The roads are virtually empty, and although most operate the car effectively, the general road sense is appalling and most drivers ( excepting those who drive for work or in busier conditions) don't read the road because they don't have to; they don't get challenged. They drive alone ( as in without other traffic) and so their need to avoid others or assess what problems other drivers might present for them, doesn't get honed.
Rather than scan the road ahead, identify a hazard, plan their route around it and then do what they have to do smoothly and rationally, so many zoom up, panic and then react. And many of the reactions are well over the top. Its the 'suddenly' factor of accidents; ' suddenly this happened' or 'suddenly that happened'. I heard that one so many times as a cop investigating prangs, yet when you probe what they actually did immediately before hitting whatever they hit, its invariably the same answer; they failed to plan anything and overreacted. Of course, there are occasions when something totally unexpected and unavoidable happens, but they are so rare that they don't feature that often. And that certainly wasn't the case yesterday when the dippy P plater bird did her thing.
But I survived ( again) and made it to Scotts Head where we bought some food and then met a couple, of which woman knew Nadine's mum. Its a small world sometimes.
And we all know how Australians like to pinch things from other countries and cultures, insist they invented or discovered it and it's 100% Aussie owned/made/ grown/bred or whatever. But this was just a bit too ridiculous....
We found a riverside free camp at Gumma Reserve on Warrell Creek. there were only a few people down there, which was much better than the place in Port McQuarie.
It had flooded recently though, judging by the wet ground and the river weed on the tracks, and one of the other campers told me that there had been 2 m tides last week. I then got chatting to her and she started telling me about the birds and the fish in the river. She was fishing for bait but not having much luck.
It turned out that she and her husband we there on their own, having been there over Christmas with some of their adult children, the last of whom had left that morning. We spent most of the evening chatting to them and swapping stories, with them telling us local places worth looking at. Again, nice people enjoying the countryside, living as they want.
Opposite is a family with cockatoos in a cage. Always funny what other people pack to go camping but poor old cockatoos; how must they feel? Going back to wild but locked up and carried around. No chance to stretch their wings or start any holiday romance with the local birds.
And the local birds keep teasing them, flying very close because they can and strutting around on the ground just to rub their freedom in. You can read the body language, even though they are birds; real na na na nah stuff.
Mind you, an Ibis nearly came a cropper, landing on too flimsy a branch high up in a gum tree. It fell out backwards, saved only by its wings. Too many cake crumbs over Christmas I guess. (pics on the other camera and will post them later)
It had flooded recently though, judging by the wet ground and the river weed on the tracks, and one of the other campers told me that there had been 2 m tides last week. I then got chatting to her and she started telling me about the birds and the fish in the river. She was fishing for bait but not having much luck.
It turned out that she and her husband we there on their own, having been there over Christmas with some of their adult children, the last of whom had left that morning. We spent most of the evening chatting to them and swapping stories, with them telling us local places worth looking at. Again, nice people enjoying the countryside, living as they want.
Opposite is a family with cockatoos in a cage. Always funny what other people pack to go camping but poor old cockatoos; how must they feel? Going back to wild but locked up and carried around. No chance to stretch their wings or start any holiday romance with the local birds.
And the local birds keep teasing them, flying very close because they can and strutting around on the ground just to rub their freedom in. You can read the body language, even though they are birds; real na na na nah stuff.
Mind you, an Ibis nearly came a cropper, landing on too flimsy a branch high up in a gum tree. It fell out backwards, saved only by its wings. Too many cake crumbs over Christmas I guess. (pics on the other camera and will post them later)
I'm in my tent now, listening to the women of the cockatoo family chatting about their various prescribed drug addictions. They've clearly down a few beers and are really spilling the beans. It seems that one is a nurse too and pinches stuff out of the drug cupboard, 'just a few at a time, an extra one for each patient so it doesn't show up anywhere'. And they're talking about Tramadol, which they all swear by. Bugger; that's what I had when I broke my shoulder and neck and it did nothing for me, no effect at all, not even pain relief which it was supposed to do. Now I'm feeling rather worryingly dysfunctional.
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