All change

So after Gordon’s departure, I had some stuff to do. I had all of his gear, plus his bike and a ute, and there was no way I could carry all of that on my bike. I mean, he’d carried some clutter but even he hadn’t reached that level of luggage.

So before he left for the airport, he helped me load his bike on the back of the ute and tie it down.  Its only a small bike but unlike my van and small bike in the UK there was no way I could have got this little bike onto the tray without help; its just too high. Then he went,and it it was me on my jack.

This trip has been going for four months, and has had its pitfalls. There were four of us initially, then three, then Nadine had to go back to work, making two. Now that Gordon has also  cleared off, I’ve turned into the lone rider in a bad remake of The Waltons, except instead of saying goodnight to people, I’m saying goodbye. But I I keep saying that travel is made by getting round the problems that arise, and the longer this one goes on, the more my resilience develops.

My plan was to drive back east to the Central Coast, give Nadine the ute and get her to stash the bike too, either until I could sell it, or decide what to do with it. Fortunately, she needs a vehicle and this one is ideal, so it was win win. But what to do with his gear? He told me to bin it but that was a non starter; it was too good for that. So I decided to go via our storage unit in Port Macquarie and leave it there.

It was about 1400kms, or three days drive. The people at the campsite were lovely and said I could leave my bike and panniers in a shed until I returned. So having sorted everything into keep, store, bin piles, I loaded up and left. One of the blokes at the campsite is an ex truckie who used to drive that route, so he gave me a few pointers and places to avoid, and off I went.

I didn't want to retrace if I could help it, so I took the road to Pinnaroo, Ouyen, Manangatang, ( Manangatang - who the hell thought that one up?)Tooleybuc and stopped at a rest stop at Balranald for the night. I slept in the ute cab, a bit cramped and rather cold, but cheaper than a motel. 

I  started off a bit creepily though because I saw a billboard advert for Wolf Creek 2, a scary tale of a man wandering the outback, preying on travellers. A true story and the culprit has never been caught, and I was convinced he was watching me from across the highway.   

My eyes were bloody sore though probably due to dust and me stabbing myself in the left eye with the arm of my glasses as I put them on. Soppy tart; I rarely wear them and only put them on because my eyes were aching from the constant driving. 

There are plenty of free camping spots all over Australia, but like anything, you have to be careful. There was a caravan parked up for the night at this one, so I felt ok, although it was pretty noisy, being on a road train route. Those things do thunder along , making the ground shake and the vegetation quiver in the wind that they whip up.

The following morning, I was up and ready to roll early. I didn't want to drive at dawn because that’s when the animals are about, and I really didnt need a roo or a wombat planted in the radiator or an emu through the windscreen, so I left at about 0900.

Much of Australia is flat. Very flat, and this bit of it was flatter than flat, boringly flat in fact. The Hay Plain. It was a bit like being adrift in a small boat on a calm sea. Nothing above the horizon at all for 360 degrees, no features, no clouds, few birds, no tress, the odd bush, nobody about, apart from every so often when roadtrains appeared, usually in twos or threes, lined up into the distance, and then passing by within seconds, slipping westwards into the nothingness.

I was very conscious of being the only person for miles around, just me and a few roos all going about our business under huge open skies. And its easy to see how accidents happen on such open flat road. Sudden swerving to avoid a jumping roo, a micro sleep that sends you veering or just lack of concentration than pitches  you off to the side or rolls you. Seemingly innocuous, its easy to come a cropper out there. But I love it, the brutal isolation of that desert scrub.

A few galahs were about - they are everywhere, squarking and showing off - and the odd emu punctuated the skyline but that was all, and even they couldnt be bothered to run.

But you know what? Although I there was alone out there, it suddenly became a very crowded place when I stopped for a wee. Cars, trucks and even a farmer in his plane came by, tooting and waving. And the farmer came back for a second look, waving at me from about 60m.

At Hay, I took a wrong turn, difficult to do in a town of just a few streets, but I still managed it. But I sorted that out fairly quickly and found the correct road to West Wyalong and Dubbo. 

Fuel is a big consideration and it's vital not to pass on opportunities to fill up. I’ve got used to that on the bike, but I have to consciously remember in the ute a it has a 70 litre tank. So I use the half full point as my reminder, filling up as near to that as I can. And thats how I ended up spending an hour in the hotel at West Wyalong, drinking lemon lime bitters and watching horse racing with the locals, after stopping at the local bowser. 

I say locals, but  whilst they might have lived nearby, they were all Irish and Scottish, with me as the Pom element, and the two Aussies as the rank outsiders. It was a a good hour, and a good morale boost for me; I’d grown a bit fed up chatting to myself and singing as I drove, although that was probably best on the singing front.

A bad ass  bike gang was parked outside when I arrived, Harleys all lined up outside, engines pinging and chrome sparkling in the sunshine, looking mean and menacing. How good would it have been to park my tatty old postie bike in amongst them, a dog amongst hogs. But mine would have won the greatest distance compo.

The riders were inside eating lunch, a collection of spritely old Bruce Springsteens, enjoying their passion, and clad in black and orange cut off denim jackets which their wives had obviously washed and ironed before they left home that morning. The Banditos briefly looked up from their chicken tikkas to call a cheery ‘oi oi’  when I walked through the door before getting back to their tucker.  And they waved when they left.

The road continued up through Forbes, then Parkes and the telescope in the distance, looming off the horizon like a huge metal mushroom, then Dubbo, where I filled up again. Dusk was approaching but I didn’t want to stay in Dubbo overnight, so I pressed on to Dunedoo and a truck stop where I slept under a very bright sky filled by millions of stars.

Truck stops are not great because truckies get up early, then play with their compression brakes. No, not a euphemism, and yes I know they have to do it, but it is quite disconcerting to be ‘ psssshtt’ awake. But the trade off is that they know the road, and there is usually a loo and a place for breakfast nearby, and lo and behold, so there was. A Vietnamese cafe with the most disinterested and rude staff, but good food. It always surprises me when people treat their customers like enemies. In my world, customers buy their goods and keep shops in business, but apparenty not where these blokes live.They were dreadful and it was amusing to see the shocked look on new customers’ faces as they were baracked for having the  temerity to offer them money in exchange for goods.

Dunedoo marks a change of landscape, a place where the boing old flat changes to greener mountain scenery,  welcome after the past few days. The roads wind too, and as it was a Sunday, the bikes were out enjoying the twisties.

My route took me through Gunnedah, a town about which Nadine and I had once had a weird conversation about passports and visas because I’d though she’d said Canada rather than Gunnadah. A nice little country town, and not far from Tamworth, where I stopped to buy headache pills and a toothbrush.

We’d been through Tamworth about six weeks ago to the music festival. That was all gone of course but more noticeably was the burnt ginger grass, which is now lush and verdant. Surprising what a bit of the old rain can do.

Climbing up out of Tamworth and up onto the Great dividing range, it becomes very alpine, leaving behind a great plain with odd protrusions that look like giant ant hills. From the lookout at Moonbi, you can see right across them, so as I was making good time, I stopped there. 

And that’s where I met Warren, a local brickie, and three young brothers he was minding for the day, Sean, Thai and Latrelle ( sorry, not sure of the spelling guys!) 

I stayed and chatted to them for about an hour, and shared their picnic. One of the best things about moving around is the people you meet and I’ve met some really lovely folks all over the place. Just good honest folk who want to chat and are kind and generous and interesting. And I hope that by way of return, they get something from me; tales of places I’ve been, things I’ve done, and affirmation that actually, wherever we come from in the world, we’re all essentially the same.

After Moonbi, I kept going, through Walcha  ( where I had planned to stop before I discovered the Moonbi lookout) to Wauchope and Port Macquarie. Coming down over the mountains and rainforest, it was quite misty so there wasn’t much to see. But that was ok because I was driving.

I have really noticed the difference between being on a bike and in a vehicle in the past few weeks though. Yes there is the obvious extra stability, carrying capacity, greater speed to cover more kms, a dry place to sleep and increased fuel usage, oh and the luxury of a radio, but you know what? Despite all of that, I prefer being on my bike. 

I love being out in the elements, the smells, the bumps, the dust and sand. I love being able to stop and pull over anywhere with ease without causing a pile up or worrying about soft edges, fines, ditches and passing space. I love being able to go back and look at something I’ve just ridden past, turning round in my seat to take pictures, and I love the way people come up and chat because they want to know what the hell I’m up to on a small bike with next to nothing, miles from anywhere. I’ve missed that so much over the  last month, and although I’m sure there will be times when I rue not having the advantage of a four wheeled vehicle, I know this is the right way for me to travel right now.