Exploring Townsville

I like this place; it's bigger than I thought and a bit sprawled out but nice. Got a good camping place right opposite the beach although I haven't actually been on the beach as yet.

But I have been up Castle Hill - apparently pronounced ' Cassle Hill'round these parts - which gives amazing views over the whole Townsville  area, and also over Magnetic Island, a smallish island  just off the coast. It's mostly a holiday/ fishing place ( I think ) but I'll find out more next week when  I take a wander over there. 

There is a monument on the top of the viewpoint to Captain Robert Towns, formerly of Northumberland, UK, who founded Townsville. It was originally over his grave in Sydney but was moved up here at a later date.

It's nice and warm too, a comfortable 25  during the day but dropping at night to quite chilly. Funny thing is, people up here are all whinging about how cold it us; apparently they're having a cold snap and people are wearing winter coats and fleeces etc FFS! 

My plan is to give poor old Gerty a well deserved rest and a bit of a farkle while I'm in Townsville. I will remove some of the extra bits that were fixed to her before I got her and are now no

longer needed as I won't be so remote anymore. Things like the rocket launchers and also the panniers. Were I to ride long distance on a postie bike again, I wouldn't use the pikka postie bags but would use either a loop system ( but not giant) or two army webbing bags lashed together and slung across the rack. It not only cuts down on clutter but is much lighter. The panniers are very good but are heavy, even when empty. But they did their job and lasted the ride round the block and some very rough riding, so I have no complaints.

But I now need a bit of a change from riding and I know Gerty could do with a bit of Gert time too. I have looked after her ( regular oil changes, not overloaded, kept her chain and sprockets well maintained)  but I think I'll strip her down and give her some proper TLC over the next few weeks. I acquired a pushie to get around on too, so that will help.

A real WTF ? Day today...

Do you ever have days where at the end of it, when you've sat down or whatever, you wonder how on earth it all happened? Me too, and it's been one such day today.

I didn't sleep too well last night. No reason other than I wasn't particularly tired. I find that with riding sometimes; once I've slept for a few hours and recovered the energy spent during the day, I wake up and stay awake. But in the pitch black, in the bush, there is no TV to put on and making a cuppa isn't that easy. So usually, I just listen to Radio 4 podcasts and hope their soothing to tones send me to sleep.

It didn't work too well last night and I was a bit cold, so consequently I was a bit stressed this morning, despite packing up quickly.

But no matter; my plan was to ride 100 kms to Charters Towers and have a good feed.

So how pissed off was I when two kms down the road, Gerty started to weave all over the place like she was on ice? I slowed to a stop without coming off and accepted the worst; another bloody flat tyre. 

So off came the bags once again - this time we were on the verge alongside the highway rather than up a remote track - out came the tools, and off came the rear wheel and then the tyre.  A succession of caravans passed, all waving cheerily, and two bikers who make a big effort pretending not to notice me, suddenly becoming very interested in the trees on the otherside of the road. But they were riding  Harleys and so probably had no idea at all about anything to do with bikes anyway, but they could have at least checked to see if I needed anything. So you two, may your piles forever play up and remain in your respective anus' for a very long time. 

But I was Ok and just got on with it. It wasn't hot like the other day so that was good. But could I find the source if the puncture? Nope, nothing in the tyre wall at all, anywhere.I even checked the outside to see if it had just penetrated. Still nothing, so I looked at the tube. Nothing. So I put some air into it, which rather annoyingly stayed put. So was it a loose valve? Nope. (A valve tool is one thing I've never had and one I keep meaning to get, so a thumb and the tip of a flat made screwdriver had to suffice. )

But another look at the tube revealed the cause, two  4cm scores along the tube sides but at different locations. 

And one had burst. Looked like a manufacturing fault and there was no point repairing that tube as the scores were too big, so I decided to patch the tube I'd removed two days ago but had not had time to fix. I knew that was just a thorn hole, so it was a pretty easy job. 

And while the blue set on it, I sliced the scored tube, removed the valve, and lined the tyre with the butchered tube as an extra layer. The tyre was getting a bit thin anyway, so an extra layer could save the day until at least Townsville, a tantalising 350 kms to the east.

So that all worked and I shoved it all back into the tyre and was struggling levering the tyre back onto the rim when Glen and  Karen stopped. Unbeknown to me, they had passed, realised I had a problem and so came back; how kind was that? (Harley riders please note). Glen helped me lever it back on then get the wheel back onto Gerty, and then followed me to a small taown a few kms down the highway to a servo and a proper air compressor.and to save me the weight on a newly mended flat, they took my bags in their ute. Super nice, and very cool people.

So at the servo, after borrowing old mate's air line, we had a drink and a jaw. Turns out they are on honeymoon, having married last November, but are travelling for two months up the top end in the dry season. Glen is in the RAAF, rides bikes and has just been posted to RAAF TIndall  up near Katherine. So a big thumbs up to them and many many thanks!

So after parting ways an hour or so later, I carried on riding towards Townsville, fearful that if I stopped, I'd get stranded again. I kept going all the way to just short of Charters Towers, where I stopped to eat.

 However, there was no food, the lady just having come back from a shopping trip to town. So as I bought a packet of crisps, she started to tell me all about her recent cosmetic surgery trip to Thailand, and their near incarceration by the military in the recent troubles. This was all unsolicited too, and it was the most interesting packet of crisps( chips) I've had in a long time.

The story is that she (Sandra) and her daughter both lost a lot of weight (Sandra 45 kilos, daughter Pam 60) but they had folds of hanging skin which they decided to have surgically  sorted. So off they went to Thailand, much to the annoyance of John, Sandra's husband, who right up until they left for the airport, was whinging that he needed them to stay and look after him. So they ignored him

And when they got there, they decided on more than they'd planned with Sandra also having a face lift, her eyes done, a new denture, a boob job and a tummy tuck, as well as the bingo wing flesh removed from her arms. Then I got shown the scars and the stitches - not really my thing as I am a bit squeamish when it comes to injuries after the event - but it was ok. In the end I had to extract myself and get back on the road I would still be there now. But what a nice lady. And she looked fabulous and is very happy with her bionic body. However, she did admit to having been more scared of being caught up in the recent disturbances there than any of the medical stuff.

Once back on the road, I managed another 100 kms before stopping for the night and watching the sun sink over the hills. 

I'm now just 50 kms west of Townsville, and providing we remain puncture less Nd other fiascoless I should make it by tomorrow late morning. Fingers crossed.

Onwards .... Yet again

  I hadn't planned on riding very far today and was pottering up through the hills outside Mount Isa, which are beautiful in an orange and scrubby sort of way. After about 40 mins, I saw the turn to Mary Kathleen and decided it was worth a look. 

Its a ghost town now, with just plots, no buildings, but it's not very old. 1954 think, pegged out for the iron ore that was found here by two blokes, one of who named the town after his late wife.

The first hurdle was the cattle grill which looked a bit hardcore and more suited to dinosaurs than cows, but nothing a bit of a run up and a prayer couldnt fix, and Gerty was over it like it was nothing. Phew. The gaps between the bars looked leg breakingly spaced.

And of course because the town is derelict, so is the road, so the ride in is another off road experience without actually getting off road. 

It was bone dry too but it clearly gets very wet round there if the washouts are anything to go by. Fortunately for me, a thoughtful soul had put a branch and some boulders just where the road disappeared. Luckily I saw it- wouldnt have fancied the consequences otherwise.

The old mine is still there, disused of course, but you can still get up to it for a look. 

But then disaster.... I happened to glance down at Gert's back wheel and noticed the tyre was flat as...... Not a job that I relished, especially in the hot sun, but it had to be done. So off came the bags and off came her wheel, then the tyre. I had a new tube so I put that in instead of patching the old one and risking the glue not setting.

 A nasty thorn turned out to be the culprit. Actually, it was a bit of a bugger because when I got a new tyre in Broome, I asked them to tape the inside of the new tyre as I  was going up the Gibb River Road. I even offered them my reel of gaffer tape which they declined. They told me they did tape it.....but guess what? Yep, no taping....lying little shits. Who knows, that layer could have been enough to stop the thorn. 

Anyway I sorted it and was just pumping it up when car came by and loaned me  their compressor. I was using a hand pump but the compressor was a luxury, esp in the heat. Thank you nice people!

Just goes to show though how important it is to be able to get yourself out of a fix. It's a no brainier and I have never understood why anybody would wander off the beaten track ( and even many of the main roads in Australia qualify as that) without being able to fix a flat, adjust the clutch,or swap a cable. To me, it is a must and I think anybody who habitually relies on the help of others ( professional or friends) or dies not have a usable rescue service, without knowing the basics shouldnt be on the road. It's so not on. 

Anyway, I was filthy after all that and didn't dare stop anywhere civilised  for fear of being chased out of town,  so carried on until 90 kms west of Julia Creek and camped.

Big catchup

Well, I haven’t written anything much for a few weeks now because I had to attend to some medical stuff in Perth, recover from that, and then get back on the road. Consequently, I spent more time in Broome, but nothing new, just occupying my time and hanging out with various fantastic people whom I had met there.

I did a litter pick up one day, helping the Keep Broome Clean Team. That was a good way to spend a few hours, particularly as the clear up spot was an indigenous community on the outskirts of town. I didnt know that when I signed up, so going in there was an added bonus, but crikey, did it need a cleanup; there were only about ten houses in the place but enough beer cans, bottles and assorted trash strewn around the place to make it look like the rubbish dump of a small city.

I have never understood why people live like that. We all make rubbish, but why would you want to live amongst it? I think it's got much to do with responsibility and the failure to be held accountable. You see it in London and other places too; chuck your crap anywhere, and somebody will sort it out for you. Its nothing to do with race or class , although both seem to offer convenient excuses to hide behind, but it has much to do with individuals who can't be bothered. 

I finally left Broome for the final time.  ( this trip) on June 30th, camped in the bush that night just past Fitzroy Crossing, the next night between Halls Creek and Doon Doon Roadhouse, and then two nights in Kununurra, where I met up with Peter and Lesley, whom I had met on the road several weeks ago. They were staying with their daughter on a property in Kununurra, so they put me up too - very nice of them, and a real treat to spend time being shown around the town by them.

The Ord Valley is a huge irrigated area which is an agricultural  development area. Over the years since the dam was built, its seen cotton, sugar cane, rice, veggies and fruits all growing on a large scale, but for various reasons - some political, some pests - they have all failed. But now it is the turn of mangoes and sandlewood, both of which seem to be taking off.

Sandlewood in particular is interesting. It's a parasite tree which needs a companion to live off, and is planted between rows of them. The wood is used and the oil extracted and much is sent to India. But to put it's value in perspective - it is known as wooden gold-  a tonne of sandalwood chippings fetches $100,000 on the current market. Not bad for a bag of old sawdust.

I also did a bit more of the Gibb River Road too, riding down to El Questro, but its sealed road, so it wasn’t quite the same as the other end. However, as I’ve had gashed my finger quite badly, riding over rough stuff was quite difficult, so once again, I reluctantly tempered my venturing and didn’t go as far as I planned.

Then after two nights with Peter and Lesley, I left for  Darwin. I made good time on the bitumen, reaching Victoria River, flowing through a spectacular river gorge with massive cliffs of orange rock. I bush camped just past there in a free camp for the night. It was cold too and I was glad of the extra sleeping bag I’d bought in Kununurra, albeit that its a only a cheapo job.

By the time I reached Katherine,I was on a roll, and even after a bit of faffing about, refuelling and just generally bumbling, I still had sufficient time to get to Darwin. 

I had heard bad things about both hostels and campsites up there, dirty and expensive according to wiki camps, so I was a bit unsure what to do. As it was, I stopped bout 30 kms south of the city near Humpty Doo - ridiculous name for a suburb - and bush camped just off the highway. I didn’t fancy the city traffic and trawling for a place to stay  so late in the day.

The following morning, I rode into the city via the airport because I noticed that the road leading to it was called “Amy Johnson Drive’, Amy Johnson of course being the first woman to fly solo from London to Australia , way back in 1930. And she flew from Croydon. It took her 19 1/2 days - a bit longer than the red eye 24 hours we moan about these days.

I poked around Darwin, found the deck chair theatre - like the open air place in Broome, went to the waterfront, looked at the city, and even found the YHA, and stopped, intending to go in, but as I got off my bike, a load of back packers were having a party in the courtyard. Whilst it was the middle of the day and they were only being social, I remembered some of the additional bits in the reviews I’d read, things like ‘ party throughout the night’ ‘backpackers brawls’ noisey, etc and thought ‘ you know what? Not for me, I’ll go elsewhere’. So I did - via the beer can regatta on Mindel Beach.

That was worth seeing, various events and competitions and people dressed up, all having fun.

I watched that for a few hours and then rode back south, stopping just north of Adelaide River at a proper campsite - I needed a shower and to do some washing. 

That’s the only problem with longterm bush camping; its hard to keep clean when its hot and sticky and dusty, so I’ll stop when I can.The place was really good too. It looked fairly ramshackle but was pristine and the bloke running it was nice.

Further south next morning, I called in at Adelaide River and the war cemetery. It was built to bury the dead from Darwin and the NT from WW2. Only a few months ago, it had flooded due to heavy rain, but today it was as dry and hot as.

photo courtesy of Adelaide River War Graves commission

But despite the stop there, I still made Katherine that night, and camped in the bush just outside the city. I wasn't that happy there and thought I might get rumbled as a cycle path was fairly nearby, but the ground was uneven, and I managed to park Gerty down a hole and cover her with the tarp so she was camouflaged, then put the tent a few metres away under some scrabby bushes. It worked well and nobody saw us, but I’m not really that comfortable being so close, and where people are likely to appear.

I was hoping to catch up with Hannes whom I knew was on his way from Kununurra along the Gibb River Road but I also knew that he probably had no signal along the route, as I hadn’t had one when I rode it. So I gave up and went into town, bought some oil, got a tip for a good cafe for breakfast, and had just ordered when Hannes rang. He had actually ridden through and out of town and was heading to Darwin when he realised he had missed Katherine town centre and so had turned around and ridden back in - and spotted Gerty! And I was in the cafe immediately in front, so that was great.

After a coffee, we went to the hot springs just down the road  and sat in there for several hours, chatting, getting clean and enjoying a bit of time off the bikes. It was really good to see him. I first met him before Christmas in Tasmania and then a few months later, I stayed with him in the Barossa valley.

Later that afternoon, we parted company, me heading south towards Tennant Creek and him northwards towards Darwin.

It was a bit of a weird day though because I still managed to get a few kms done, despite not actually getting going until about 2pm. I stopped at Mataranka and had a look at a huge termite hill too, bought some food, then found a bush camp.

Sometimes when I’m riding along, I still get lost in how big this place is. I had a vague notion that Tennant Creek was quite a way off - about 600kms - but I didn’t  comprehend it until later in the afternoon when I still hadn’t gone through any towns or got anywhere of note, and it was time to find a sleeping spot - again. It still amazes me how big and empty Australia is, and how quiet it is too.

I can’t even recall where it was I stopped - somewhere south of Elliott I think - but it was probably the best spot I’ve found yet, off the road, up a bit higher, screened all round by bushes. And I slept well..... but I also dropped Gerty as I got off her. Poor old thing. But she was OK.

I made Tennant Creek fairly early the following afternoon, after pottering down the Stuart Highway,  stopping to look at various things. As usual, I met several people in doing so, including John  and Malinda, who made me coffee. Turns out John used to be a biker but got wiped up 18 years ago, sustained a bit of a brain injury but is much better now, and Malinda is training to be a school chaplain. Very nice people, and more fabulous chance conversations.

In Tennant Creek I stopped at the youth hostel. I only found it by chance and it is with out a doubt, the dirtiest hostel I have ever stayed in, which is a shame because old and tatty I can do, but dirty is not really on, particularly when you’re paying the same rate as for a clean place. But the water was hot and I only had to sleep there. And it made a change to sleep inside, and in a bed. 

In the end, I stayed at the Tennant Creek hostel for three nights regardless of the dirt because I met some really great people there and it was worth staying for their company. Dale, the tunnel boring machine driver, Mick the mechanic, Jeff and Narelle who live there, plus Maria the Swiss girl who was stuck there, waiting for a bus, Robert and Ian, from NZ, both of whom were travelling without wives and so staying in the skankiest places possible, just because they could. 

That is one of the really good things about independent travel; meeting other independents and sharing whatever is there to be shared. Fortunately though it wasn’t bed bugs.

It also gave me a better opportunity to look around the place. Tennant creek is not known for its attractions, although once in the not too distant past, it was a vibrant town with gold mines.  But much seems to have shut down now, the various local mines having ceased much excavation. 

Mind you, it wasn’t as shut down as I thought; I hadn’t realised that Friday was a public holiday in the Territory, so the closed shutters were due to a day off rather than abandonment. Whoops.

Even so, there were plenty of people hanging about. Just sitting around, doing nothing in particular. There was also a fair, creating the usual processions of people leaving with giant stuffed toys, balloons and other fairground paraphernalia. 

I had also considered heading down to Alice Springs, a mere 650 odd kms, but decided against it as I want to be in Townsville for Saturday. If I went to Alice, I would have to ride on to Uluru, another 300 kms and would not have the time too look round, and would have to tonk it back up the same route as there is no real alternative. It would have added about 1800kms but time ( on this occasion) was a deciding factor.

So instead, I headed north to Threeways then east along the Barkly highway towards Queensland. I had given the long suffering Gerty a good old going over the day before - oil change, tyres, chain tightening and lube, and she was ready for another long haul.

It was windy too - a cold head/side wind coming up from the south. It was OK while I was heading north from Tennant to Threeways - I was sitting on 80kms easy, on half throttle as it was blowing me along - but after turning east along the Barkly, I struggled to get 60 kph. And that lasted all day. In the end, I had a cold killer layer, a leather jacket and my riding jacket on and was just about comfortable. I’d forgotten what cold was like.

I pulled into the Barkly Homestead roadhouse for fuel, and immediately bumped into Frank, travelling Australia in his car, and then Giampierro, an Italian rider on a dakar, heading north. 

This was the most expensive roadhouse I have yet encountered, something which is clearly mentioned by other people stopping there as there is a big notice, excusing their very high prices. It doesn’t make much difference to me with my small tank but it must cost the big rigs quite a bit. Stuff inside was pretty pricey too, which is a shame because it doesn’t have to be like that. 

I bush camped again in the middle of nowhere, about 100 kms west of the Queensland border. I was pretty tired after fighting the wind all day, so I just set up, cooked a feed and then went to sleep.

Upon waking, I was encouraged to discover that the wind had dropped substantially, but I still donned both jackets and my coldkiller, which I kept on all the way to Queensland. It was easer to ride though, so that was good.

After about an hour, I spotted a cyclist riding towards me. Turned out to be a bloke called Paul, originally from Gosford NSW, now living permanently on the road. 

He was on way to Perth but had no gear, other than a puncture repair kit and some emergency food. Hardcore I thought! But then he explained that he was actually with his wife Val, who would leave the previous night’s camp several hours after him in their motorhome and they would meet at a prearranged spot for lunch and in the evening. He also told me that he had only got into cycling because about six years ago, he had got crook, lost his balance, and the doctor suggested he start riding in order to train his body the art of balance. So he did, and now he regularly does audax rides ( uber long distance), and his balance is tickety boo. As we chatted, Val turned up, parked at the side of the road and mafde us a cuppa. Lovely.

Actually, that day was quite a chatty day. After I met Paul, I stopped at the border and from then on, met a succession of other travellers in motorhomes, all on their way to Queensland. 

One in particular, John, was wandering in his ute with the minimum of kit ( he slept in the back of it) and had done many of the dirt roads that I had done. He also told me that he had driven along the Plenty Highway but had encountered heavy rain and flooding which had forced him to turn around and drive up the bitumen. That was only a few days ago, and had I ridden to Alice, it is one of the dirt tracks I would have taken. Good call not to ride it then!

I stayed in Mount Isa that night and the next, in a hostel - a clean one this time. It gave me the opportunity to look around the place too. Its funny how after all that open space and big skies, I found the industrial landscape of a major mining town fascinating, especially the lights at night.

I had a poke around the following day too, looking over the city from the look out and finding the last remaining tent house - part canvas part tin - which were erected to cope with the arrival of workers. 

There is also an underground hospital in Mt Isa- built during WW2 when it was thought that the Japanese might try a bit harder and invade northern Australia.

So it's Townsville next; got some stuff to do there. It will be weird to be back amongst people too.