A short trip to Perth

I've been down in Perth for a few days for some medical stuff. Flew down on Monday, leaving Broome and 35 ºc, to a chilly 16ºc. But the sun is still warm and there are no sandflies here either, so that is excellent.

The op thing went OK, although I did have to spend a bit more time in hospital than I would have liked because I don't respond well to anaesthetic. And gives me a bad headache. But that's OK, its just one of those things. The cannula leaked this time though, and made a bit of a mess and the nurse panic, but it had a faulty cap.

I also had to stay put because, having been sedated and being on my own, there was nobody to collect me or watch me until I was fully recovered. But I was Ok sooner than they expected and they saw the sense of letting me go.

I caught up with Ange the cartoonist, whom I'd met in Freo a couple of months ago. It was good to see her and hear what she'd been up to.

And on her recommendation, I took the free bus to the City farm and poked around down there for a couple of hours. Its one of those surprising places, an oddly out of place rural cameo thriving in the midst of urbanisation. A scrubby misshapen sliver of land  belonging to the railway, once a mill site, then derelict, now a hive of growing, recycling, reuse and slightly mad innovation; it's great. But unlike the city farms in London, there are no animals, although four chooks rule the roost ( literally)

I got chatting to David, a volunteer who used to work in advertising in Asia, and who reckoned he needed to atone for past commercial sins by working on the land, although he ruefully accepted that he would still consequently be reincarnated as a cockroach for many lives to come. 

While we were chatting, along came Jack, a former Special Air Service bloke who had hitched and cycled through many wild places across the world and who now builds odd things, such as the world's most unusual pizza oven. They were both bemused by tales of my travels on Gerty, Jack in particular having driven most of the tracks I've ridden up. 

I love meeting people like them; people who have done interesting things with their lives but by serendipity, end up in the same places at the same time as me, and start talking. It is unlikely that our paths would have crossed otherwise, but they did today, and I am glad.

I was lucky too. The sun shone for most of the day, with a few isolated downpours, but towards the end of the afternoon, the skies really closed in and five minutes after I reached my room, all the water in the world started to fall out of the sky, and is still going now. A real tempest, which I hope will blow itself out by the time its time to fly back to Broome tomorrow.

Down time

Another week in the lovely Broome, waiting. I'm off to Perth tomorrow so no wandering can be done until the 30th as there are a few things I need to collect on my return. 

But I got to spend the week with Maryke and Gerold, which was great, and I pottered about with them and also around the area, helped them with various gardening jobs, drunk their coffee, downed wine and jawed.

Much as I love riding, its so nice to be attached to a place now and again, and have some down time once in a while and see stuff that I would otherwise have missed; places, creatures, people.

Tra- la....

.....yet another excellent day riding the ever trusty Gerty on the dirt of north western Australia. Yes I know that yesterday I said that it was too hard and that my wrist hurts and that I was worried that Gerty might shake to bits. Well all of that is still the case, but that was yesterday and today is today. So after a bit of bitumen to warm up,  off we went again in search of sand and gravel.

The road was very empty and I had it all to myself for quite a while. Then who did we meet as we were riding along, but Trent and Cynthia, the Adelaide couple who helped me bump start Gerty after she got wet in the river. They were all cheery and I think on their way back to SA.

As I packed up this morning, it was silent apart from various birds of prey circling overhead and calling to each other. It really is quite special being out here just seeing things in their natural environment.

 

Anyway, I found some interesting looking places on the map last night, and as they were fairly nearby, that's where we went. One of the things I really like about WA is that it really is mostly unsealed, so rough riding is never far away.

It wasn't  as rutted or bumpy as bits of the GRR but it was very sandy. But luckily the sand was quite packed as it's road train access to farms and as they are fresh tyre tracks, I try and ride in them. 

But it was quite windy today so some of the sand had blown into piles already, and I rode through several willy willies - mini sand whirl winds. That's always great for a bit of facial exfoliation but not so great when it gets in your mouth. Nasty!

I was on my way up one such track in  search of an abandoned cattle station when I met three road trains and three drivers plus a dog called Bobby all having a chinwag in the middle. So I stopped to pass the time of day and check that it was ok to go where I planned.

" bloody hell love, what are you doing up here on a postie bike?"

" oh just riding and seeing stuff"

"'Hahaha! Good for you. Where have you come from?"

"'The east coast, via  Thredbo, the Murray, Great Ocean Road, Tasmania, Adelaide, the centre. You know "

" what about the Nullarbor? You didn't ride that on the postie did ya?

" oh yeah, I forgot about that. Yes I did, then round the bottom of WA, up to Perth then up the coast  to here"

" Blimey that's impressive. If you had a bigger bike you could ride the Gibb River  Road too but that'd be really hard on any bike".

" yeah I know. I've done some of it already"

" you bloody what? You havent? That is really something. On your own?"

"Yep"

" where did you sleep?"

" in the bush"

" what if you breakdown or get a flat ? Can you fix it?"

" yes mostly. As long as it's not major internal engine stuff like the gearbox"

" blimey I'm impressed. Most people ride it with mates and stay at campsites, but on your own is really excellent. Bloody good on yer, you mental pom"

Then they all shook my hand. Well all except the dog who just barked. Funny!

The cattle station was about 5 kms further on and I probably wouldn't have found it had one of the drivers not told me to take the sandy track to the left through the bushes on the right hand bend, just before the faded sign to the next town.

 And there it was, another km or so from the road beyond some  very deep blown sand. The remnants of cattle yards, buildings and a once going concern, now forlorn and rusted in the midday sun. 

I wonder what happened to the owners, the people who worked there? There was no house left and no furniture or indication of recent living, so it looked like it had been a planned shutting down. But a few water tanks, a barn and some fencing was left.

After a while, I took a walk over towards some rocks by a windmill but as I got closer, the rocks moved. Cows. Loads of them, and they clearly thought I'd brought them food because they got up and started moving towards me, walking at first, then running. There were about 100 too, big ones, little ones and middle sized ones, and they were all heading for me. Bugger. There was no way they were going to stop but unless I got out of the way sharpish, I was likely to be trampled into the dust. So I tried to look calm and unruffled as I walked quickly back to the buildings but actually I was crapping myself. As soon as I got within 100 m of a building, I legged it as fast as I could and jumped behind what was left of a wall. I reckon it was a PB worthy of any on a sports field. When I looked up from where I'd landed, several bovine faces were peering over the wall, snorting and dribbling in my general direction. Luckily, they got bored  before too long and wandered back to the windmill.

I let them get a few hundred metres away then emerged from my scaredy cat hole, got on Gerty and rode back to the track. Funnily enough, I didn't even mind the sand on the return....

I found a few other tracks on my way along the Great Northern HIghway but this time I didn't go too far up them. There wasn't much up there anyway, apart from a few phone masts and some dried up creeks.

But the there is a rest area  along that highway called The Boab, presumably named after the large boab in the layby. 

I noticed that it was very green too and soon found out why. I was only there for about ten minutes when a car drew in and the occupants got out and peed up it. They went and about five minutes later, another car arrived and the occupants did the same. Then a third car with six people, including an old lady and she dropped her drawers without any ceremony, waving to me as she emerged from' her spot'. I waved back of course.

So tonight I'm camped just along from the WiIlare Roadhouse up on a manmade flood levee. 

There are quite a few signs warning of estuarine crocs - salties, and a not too friendly brand - so I'm hoping that I'm far enough away and high enough above their territory that they will leave me alone.

Back on the tar

And am I glad ? You bet, although I rarely say that as I love riding on dirt and tracks. I am so glad I ventured onto the Gibb River Road and the Fitzroy - Leopold road but it was a very difficult ride. Poor old Gerty coped really well and didn't put a spoke wrong which is more than can be said for me. 

Two years ago, whilst riding across Kazakhstan, I fell off and broke my wrist and although it mended, it's never really been right since. It's ok under normal circumstances but the extreme banging and crashing about of the last few days has buggered it a bit more than is copable on the very rough stuff. So, I called time and headed for the smooth surface. For now at least; if it's ok after a few days rest, I will probably give the dirt another go.

But I have a plan; I am going to build an adventure  trike to  allow me to get to places too difficult on a bike, and also allow me to carry the additional fuel and water. I'll keep it small and light, with trailey spoked wheels but enough poke to get over the sand and crunch the kms if required. Plus it will be very cool. Already got some ideas in the pipeline and enlisted the trike building brains of Zebb back in the UK. So watch this space!

Anyway, I rode to FItzroy Crossing and fuelled up today , then went to the info centre which was shut for lunch. However I met a lad who cleans there and was waiting to start work. Turns out he's from Taree over in NSW and has taken year off as he was halfway through an apprenticeship as a fitter and turner and was made redundant. So he came to WA to see what it was like and spend some time with his dad who teaches the evils of smoking to aboriginal communities. Nice lad and really chatty, gave me some really good pointers of where to go and what to see, and his view on living in an extreme climate with a substantial if fragmented population. He must be about the tenth person I've met from Taree , although not all in WA, and they all seem very surprised that I know where it is. But oh yes I do.

On his recommendation, I went to a croc free swimming hole not far out of town.  I washed the dirt out of my hair, off my face and rinsed my ridding pants through. Bloody lovely. And I didn't get chomped once. 

I'm camped in the bush about 10 kms out of Fitzroy on some higher ground off the highway; I didn't fancy either of the caravan parks in town.

It's so bright out here tonight that it's almost like daylight, the sky full of stars and the crickets all chattering away to each other. I was thinking earlier how used I've become to being outside, living just with what I've got with me, and that's it. Everyday is a new day as far as people go because I rarely see the same folk, so each day brings a whole new set of faces. And everyday, I meet good people. People come up and chat, they pass the time of day in the shop, servo, bank, street or whatever, if I stop at the side of the road to take a picture, make a phonecall, or have a drink, without fail. somebody stops to check I'm ok. 

Gibb River Road

Having stopped just short of WIndjana Gorge last night, I was a bit worried about the fuel situation. I reckon I had enough but the next petrol was still

about 190 kms away, and on very rough road. My fear was I'd  have a tumble, lose some fuel and then run out short. So I  decided to ride up it a but and then backtrack down to Fitzroy Crossing, check out the Gorge and Tunnel Creek on way, and then replan. 

The first bit wasn't too bad. Windjana Gorge was only about another 40 kms but very corrugated and sandy. 

So the walk around the gorge was very welcome  as it have me a good opportunity to stretch my legs after the tough ride. 

Windjana Gorge is an old river gorge cut through Devonian limestone. The water carved massive vertical cliffs which rise right up from the old rivebed, orange, black and pink pigmentation  glowing  in the sunlight, and dotted with fossils indicating it's  marine past.

It is also home to freshwater crocs. They're not as aggressive as the much larger salties, but they will still attack and  bite if they are scared or annoyed. So it's a question of walk and watch where you're going if you go down onto the river bed because that is where they spend their days.

And sure enough, there they were this morning, a few floating in the warm water, others basking in the sun, motionless on a bed of nice cooling mud.

They don't look real though.  I sat for a while just looking at them; we readily take photos but don't often just look, but here was something spectacularly interesting and unusual, to me at least. Grey, green, brown mottled skin, the colour of plasticine when all the colours have been mixed together. And magnificent tails frilled with big scales, arranged lengthways down either side. They almost look like designer monsters, the product of a wild imagination, except these creatures are for real.

The road onwards to Tunnel Creek was equally rough and I found it quite trying as well as very tiring, so once again, the opportunity to get off and walk around was welcome.

It is an interesting place. The river has cut a series of caves under the hills which take the form of a long tunnel, hence the name. A bit of scrambling over rocks, some wading through subterranean water and stumbling across sand in total darkness, to eventually pop out the other end, having passed massive undercuts of rock, rock floes, stalactites and giant tree roots  hanging down from the roof.

I met Thierry in the tunnel, a Swiss rider who has been on the road for six years. When he mentioned how hard he was finding the road,I didn't feel quite so bad !

 

But he also said that the next bit towards Fitzroy was supposedly worse, and was considering turning back towards Derby and taking the bitumen round to Kununara. That wasn't an option for me as I have neither the speed or fuel range, so I pressed on, through more sand and deep corrugations, every kilometre feeling like ten. Then I came to a river crossing and had to stop.

It was hardly flowing at all but it covered the whole road and was muddy so I couldn't see the bottom. But I could see tracks emerging from the  otherside. I was a bit wary of crocs, given what I'd seen earlier, but it was either cross or turn back and there was now no way I could do the latter. So I waded into the middle to check the depth; knee height. And flattish rocks underfoot, not too slippery. What to do? Walk alongside Gerty and risk dropping her if she stalled, or sit on her and steady her with my feet? I went for the latter and almost made it  but the wet got the better of her spark and she stopped. 

I pushed her almost to the edge but couldn't get over the last bit so I had to take her panniers off. 

That did the trick, and of course, just as I got her out, a vehicle turned up and offered help; typical! 

Trent and Cynthia from Adelaide had driven this way yesterday, and had been a bit further up the Gibb River road. Their presence was very welcome because I couldn't  kick Gerty over so Trent pushed me and we bump started her, which was great. But then we saw he had a flat tyre, which I did offer to help with, but he was ok. So on I rode once again. 

I was very tired by now and the sun was getting low. There was no way I would  make Fitzroy tonight so I found a suitable spot to hide in the bush, set up the tent - and fell asleep for an hour an a half.

I had a feed when I woke up and felt a bit better but I'm hoping that there isn't much further to go to the bitumen tomorrow.

But you have to give these roads a go. I have everything I need to ride it and can walk out if necessary, but I have pottered along steadily and have stayed upright so far. But I will be glad to reach the tar.

 

Leaving Broome

I managed to get up and out early this morning, unusual for me. But I still managed to have a good chat with Phil when he came in from work and thank him yet again for his hospitality.

After about an hour, I came across marvellous  Mike, the walker. I knew he gets on the road  in the early hours to take advantage of the cooler air and fewer vehicles. And there he was, sitting on the verge having a mid walk rest as he'd been on the go for a good few hours despite it only being 10 o'clock.

 He had also received a couple of donations from passing motorists, so he was very happy. I chatted to

him for about 40 mins before getting underway again.

The landscape changed as I headed east, becoming more grassy and dotted with boab trees and more anthills. But these were smaller, more like the rock formations in the Pinnacles NP. 

I'm not sure if that's what they were or if they were actually made by the ants. But either way, there were many of them, the extent of their spread only really being revealed by recent fires which had removed the grass to reveal

them.

There was quite a bit of burning as I moved further north, aboriginal burning I think rather than farm stuff. Lots of little fire seats all along the verges, and one bigger fire right by the side of the road which was getting a bit too big for comfort. So I kept going with as muchurgency as Gerty could muster.

Just outside Derby is the prison boab tree and a very long  cattle trough. It used to cater for 5oo beasts all lined up, but then the water in the bore dropped and the flow slowed so now it's pumped from the ground by an adjacent windmill. 

The prison boab is massive and was used as a lock up for aboriginal  prisoners who had been walked on route to the real prison. They apparently walked 20 -48 kms per day and rested in the boab overnight. Then during WW2 it was used as  storage for equipment. 

The bore also fed Frostys Pool, which must be the worlds smallest swimming pool, something else built during WW2 by troops stationed nearby. Used by officers for part of the day and rank and file at other times, it must have provided real relief from the heat and dust.

I nipped into Derby for fuel, then back tracked to the Gibb River Road. The first 80 kms are sealed and I zipped along it, passing more boabs. They really are weird looking trees, like giant rhizomes sticking out of the ground and crowned with TV ariel like branches. 

Then the corrugations started, the usual bone shaking sandfilled ruts that zap your strength as you ride and slow you down. I was hoping to make Windjana Gorge but stopped about 40 kms short as the sun was sinking. 

I stopped just off the road clear of a crowd of Brahman cows which reluctantly moved to the side to let me pass. It's also a bit cooler tonight. Not cold just cool and quite refreshing. And it's quiet.

Morning

The air is so still here. Not even a breeze. A few birds are twittering but that is all. I love mornings like this; it makes me feel like I have the world to myself.

Around Broome

I like Broome. Maybe not the most exciting place in the world, but it has a quiet charm about it that is actually quite endearing. It is not very big, either spatially or in terms of population - apart from this time of year when the latter triples thanks to travellers seeking winter sun. There isn’t that much here other than the usual collection of shops, small businesses and a few tourist orientated things, but it has a good feel about it, relaxed and unhurried, and its been my fortune to spend just over a week here.

It's famous for Cable Beach, the place where a telegraph cable crossed the Australian coast, having left the south western coast of the UK, near Lands End. The camels are the most famous things about it now though, taking tourist for an evening jaunt along the sand.

A sculpture of Lord McAlpine is on the grass just by the entrance to the beach. He is a freeman of the city, having done much for tourism here. Interesting what links people to certain places.

I had only intended to spend a couple of nights but because a non appearing tyre, it was an extended stay. Although that forced a plan rethink, it has worked out well and gave me time to see the place, get on with a few things and also to meet people. 

The market was petty good. Arts and crafts mostly, with a bit of music and people busking.

I visited Maryeka and Gerald a couple of times, the two really nice older people from Tasmania, now permanently on the road. They are currently holed up in WA doing jobs for people, and I was able to help Maryeka sort out her phone and show her how to do a few things on FaceBook. I have no interest in FB per se, but I surprised myself and knew more than I thought, having picked it up along the way as I use it.

Phil, with whom I am currently staying, is a real gem of a bloke, genuine and good fun. We have had some good chats, swapped many stories and get on very well. Whilst I am more than happy being self sufficient and self motivated, it is great to hook up with people from time to time and share their lives for a while, seeing things that they see, hearing their opinions, taking their recommendations or directions and experiencing and just passing the time. It sort of fleshes out the bones of a place and brings it to life. I love it.

He took me to Matso’s brewery one afternoon, and I was expecting a big imposing place with lots of activity. But not so; a small affair tucked away behind a pub, and I realised that I had been riding past it all week and hadn’t even noticed that it was there. Mind you, that was probably just as well because it  serves all sorts of interesting beers - such as mango beer, ginger beer and dark side, a ginger beer with a shot of particular rum in it. I’m not much of a drinker but was a pretty good find.

Broome was once a big cargo port, the largest on the NW coast by the end of the 1800s, but then it grew into a major pearl fishing town by the middle of the 20th century, thanks mainly to the advent of cultured pearls.  The old jetty in town was restored some years ago, although it is still rather rickety, suspended as it is above swampland, and not a place to venture after a few drinks. It was built for Streeter’s,a jewellery company in London, and was the route by which mother of pearl was loaded onto boats standing out in slightly deeper water.

Whilst wandering down there doing nothing in particular, I met Evan and Pip, two cyclists with whom I had played cat and mouse whilst riding northwards up the coast from Perth.  

They recognised me - probably the riding pants gave me away - and it turns out that Evan knows Terra, the woman I met several months ago heading towards Pemberton from Augusta, on her seven year walk around Australia. It is a small world in many respects but then again, its not when you consider that most people actually live quite sedentary lives and in one area, leaving the wider world relatively empty.

It was also bombed during WW2, one of the several top end towns to be attacked by the Japanese.

Broome is home to the  Sun Picture Gardens, the oldest continuously operating outdoor picture house in the world, and it is really quite special. 

The usual tin shed facade opens into a courtyard filled by old projectors and screen paraphenalia, then deckchairs, which face a huge screen.

Having been told that frequently, when a movie is playing, a plane appears over the top of the screen at a very low level, shaking everything and drowning out the sound, the end of the runway being about 1/2 a kilometre beyond the screen. And sure enough, on Saturday night as I watched Tracks       (the story of Robyn Davidson’s walk across the centre of Australia with four camels and a dog back in the 1970s) exactly that happened, but I was so mesmerised by it that I forgot to take a picture. When a second plane appeared two minutes later, its was nowhere near as spectacular as the big jet; the RFDS off to do a job.  A good evening’s cinema experience but with a difference. The film was good too.

And who should be in the audience at the cinema but Marilyn and Phil. I’d last seen them several months ago in Norseman, just this side of the Nullarbour. They had apparently spotted me a number of times along the way, but had always missed catching my eye or saw Gerty unattended. It was good to catch up with them and find out what they had been up to.  

Like me, they also knew of Mike, the man walking around Australia, and told me he was holding a sausage sizzle at Bunnings the next morning. So, off I went, and sure enough, there was Mike, just where they said he would be. I had last seen him just north of Sandfire Roadhouse about eight days ago, and again, spent a good hour talking with him and his mates from the Broome Men’s Shed, a sort of WI for blokes. Really fun chatty blokes busy arguing over the best way to cook bangers. Funny.  I later had a beer with Mike and he told me about how he had got walking, some of the challenges of the long distance stuff that he does, and some of the people he has met and the things he has seen; I like him, a nice, genuine man.

Much of the land in this area belongs to the local aboriginal people, and that shapes the development of the ‘white’ town and perhaps explains some of the seemingly odd pattern of development, with places squeezed in very close together in some areas, despite there being open land all around. A new housing estate spreads out from the airport, but a wall is under construction between it and the airport perimeter. Apparently, they plan to build houses on the nrrow strip of land between the perimeter fence and the road and the wall is a sound barrier because that is one of the few available tracts of land still available, despite the wide open space spreading out in all directions.

And building work on the estate across the road has stalled, with houses half finished and apparently abandoned, with steel framed shells and timber strutted roofs open  to all and sundry. Nobody knows what the holdup is though, but it is quite erie. 

They are all single storey buildings, cyclone proof but rather oddly, surrounded by plush lawns ( the finished ones at least) with integrated irrigation systems, a direction of the Shire because it looks nice. Every morning the sprinklers are on, keeping the grass green and councillors happy, in an area where water is a valued resource. Native gardens, increasingly popular elsewhere in dry old Western Australia don’t seem to have a look in here; I wonder why they went with grass which has no purpose other than decoration, over more climatically suited plants. Who knows.

Anyway, now I have my long awaited tyre, tomorrow I shall be off, heading towards the Gibb River Road. One of the reasons I waited was so that I could get a good dual purpose tyre rather than a full on knobbly or a road job. It will be rough but no more so than some of the places I have already been, but it is very remote so little chance of new parts.