This week's round up

Well, I was awoken earlier this week by the sound of sirens and the smell of burning. At first, I thought it was an alarm clock and the burning was toast. But then I remembered that I didn’t have an alarm clock, and realised there was no toaster within 50m. Nope, the sirens belonged to the fire brigade, and the burning to the building next door, which was partially on fire. I really wasn’t in the mood for another round of upheaval, so a cautionary glance out of the window to check it was under control, and to eye up the fireys, and back into bed I went. Well, I was tired. And they sorted it out very quickly so that was that.

The weather has got very cold too, torrential downpours and wild winds blowing straight off the ocean, rattling the windows of the old buildings in Freo in their frames like an Adams Family extravaganza. Its been like the set of one of those 1940s movies where the wind machine blows water across the screen and makes everything look misty and faded.

There is a heritage festival on at the moment in the Perth area, with various events all over the place. I had marked out several that I wanted to see -  a couple of photo exhibitions, an open day at the Governor’s house, a play, a bush walk with aboriginal women and diving in old deep sea gear in the harbour. Well, I managed the photo exhibitions and they were excellent, one at Peppermint Grove library, another at the Western Australian Historical Society in Nedlands, with photos of old Perth and old Perthonians. The latter in particular was made because of the people staffing it. I got chatting to Sue, one of the volunteers and as a result had a personal tour and many snippetts of information than I would have, had I just had an unguided look around. And I got a cake and a cup of tea.

But then on Saturday, because of the second hospital admission, I missed the rest of my carefully selected events. One of those things I guess but a necessary detour and unavoidable in the circumstances. But then every cloud has a silver lining; had I not got sick, I would have left the area by now and missed Arthur Grady day.

Arthur Grady was a Perth bicycle maker and an all round top geezer who in 1924, rode around Australia on a motorbike, the first person to do so. He set of from Perth, headed north and reappeared five and a half months later, having missed out a few bits on the edges. It’s fitting for me of course, because that’s exactly what I’m doing now, yet I knew nothing of him or his endeavour until I stumbled across the story in the festival blurb. 

A bloke called skinny George and his wife Beverley put the Arthur Grady story and display together and bring it to Freo every year, and George had fitted out a similar bike to the Grady’s exact spec. 

Skinny George

Apparently, Grady used one of a batch of 200 bikes which were shipped to Australia from England, and after his trip, it was shipped back to England to the Douglas museum. Unfortunately, the Luffwaffe then destroyed it in an air raid. Skinny George’s bike was the eleventh made after Grady’s.

Like me, Grady took very little on his Douglas boneshaker. A toothbrush in the top pocket of his jacket, one change of clothes, and for sleeping an oilcloth; under it in a mosquito net if it was raining, on top of it under the net if it was dry. Added to that was a water bladder, a rather large toolkit, and two petrol/oil mix tanks. I’ve got a bit more - a laptop, phone, camera, sleeping bag, stove, plate, pan, a few toiletries, plus a couple of tee shirts, but that’s it.

         Not a BMW and not one bit of Touratch in sight

        Check out the sleeping gear - a rolled oilcloth

People kept coming to talk to me too; turns out Skinny George was pointing me out to them, and they were interested in what I was up to, where I’d been, what I was riding, and how to do it. It was great to talk to them ( as talking to people always is) but it still surprises me how so many people think there is a hidden formula, that they need permission or special skills or expensive equipment.  No you don’t people, and there are many ways to do it. Just  make up your own plan and do your own thing.

But for the record, and because its what I always get asked:

• No, I am not sponsored; I am self funded and prefer it that way. Why should somebody fork out for you, just because you ride their brand or sport their clothing? You wouldn’t expect Coles or Sainsbury’s to supply you with free groceries just because you bought sandwiches in their shops across the world would you? 
• No, I was not inspired by bloody McGregor and Boorman but was wandering long before their makeup truck and catering van entourage left West London. Plenty of people do, have done, and will do; the only permission you need is your own.
• I’m doing it for me; it is not to be cool, for the glory, to write a book, to impress or emulate, or get my fifteen minutes of fame. I wander because I want to. And it is how I choose to live my life.
• I write and share my blog because it is my diary and record, but also so that other people who are interested in what I do and where I go can follow me and see some of the stuff I see. 
• I travel on small local bikes because I want to; they do the job, they fit in, spares are easy to get and local mechanics know how to fix them. I am not interested in amusing people by wacky, crazy choices choices. For the same reason, I wear ordinary bike gear and don’t dress up as catwoman or  wonder woman ( although wanderwoman would probably work)  Early travellers like  Arthur Grady did what they did with what they had, it worked for them, and it works for me.
• I am self sufficient, I always carry two days worth of food, a small stove, water, and a bit of spare fuel. 
• I do service my own bike , carry the tools to do so, and know how to do it.
• I camp, rarely book accommodation ahead, do not hop from friend to friend or relative to relative,  nor do I have a fixed plan. I travel in a roughly set  direction, with an idea of what I want to see on the way. That gives me the freedom to deviate, or to accept interesting opportunities that come my way.

Arthur Grady Day has now grown into a bit of a show for anything old and restored - machinery, pushbikes, vehicles and prams, some or which held some very realistic fake babies, which I found very creepy, although I do get that they go with the whole pram thing. But the pushbikes and cars were great.

                                Check out the mirrors!

                       UK Police Velocette Noddy Bike 

Look at these bikes.... one is 99 years old, the other nearly 80, but the design is virtually the same as today, with only the materials differing.

And this brand, the Swansea, a local make denoted by the five swans on the head tube. and the best bit about the  Western Australian historical cycle Club is that the members all ride these bikes. 

Unfortunately, the weather then became rubbish and tipped it down, forcing me to take the very dangerous step of retreating into a secondhand book warehouse, where I spent several hours poking about, looking at books which caught my attention. But I was restrained, and left with just two, a photographic study of where I’m going next, and the story of Burke and Wills and their failed journey from Melbourne to the Gulf of Carpenteria.

Having walked around for most of the day, I took Gerty for a short spin, primarily how both of us would fare, but also to see Carnaby’s Cockatoos roosting in a nearby suburb. These are native to SW WA , and only found here, but are endangered and threatened by habitat destruction. 

These birds have white tails and are one of only two such cockatoo brands in the world. They like tall, clustered trees like tuarts, and lemon scented gums, but unfortunately, many of these lie in the path of road or housing development. 

So a group of local residents, led by Margaret, are trying to persuade state government to encourage construction companies  to rethink their plans and let relevant trees remain. In a sort of Greenham Common meets Women’s sufferage of the early 1900s type protest, they crawl through fences and stand in the way of diggers to protect habitat, and get arrested in the process. I love people like them!

None of that tonight, just a bit of bird counting and watching, to help them  evidence their protest. And the birds did show up, just as Margaret said they would, many arriving in dribs and drabs of two or three before the main flock, shrieking and squabbling as they found a spot for the night. A bit dark for pictures though. 

And both Gerty and I were fine, although I her tail, unlike the cockatoos' is defunct, the globe having blown. So I’ll have to fix that before we set off next week.

Two girls moved into our room last night and one snored. In fact she was still snoring at 0700 this morning, which annoyed me but prompted me to get up and out down to the harbour. Various people were fishing, and a ship came in, mooring with the help of a couple of pilot boats.

And frock of the week goes to this chap, right under an appropriate sign too.

Another trying week....

My life keeps lurching from fiasco to fiasco. Just when a run of crap finishes, something else starts up and its very annoying. That’s how I ended up back in hospital for another three days, but more of that in a minute.

So, I left Perth on Friday morning, having apparently recovered from the abdo/ flu/nose saga and moved down to a hostel in Freo ( that’s what they call Fremantle round these parts) because I was booked to have a followup scan there early on Tuesday morning. And I was a bit over the city anyway, having had a good mooch about for more days than I had originally planned.

Lisa, ( Pom) Danja ( Dutch) and Pia (German) whom I’d got to know over the few days I had spent in the Perth hostel were all going off to do various things, so it was a good time to move on.

And no wonder Pia bought a car a few days later; I wouldn't fancy carrying all that gear.

The hostel people were great and allowed me to leave my stuff there while I went for an early walk around, looking at some of the buildings, statues and street art. It's quite cool; various figures, some sculptures, five giant tent peg things, a photographer, and a mob of brass kangaroos outside the main council building down by the Supreme Court. 

You would think that I could find them though, especially as they’re pretty big and the gardens are pretty small. But I couldn’t and what’s more, the concierge in the main reception reckoned he’d never heard of them. Turned out he was just a lazy arse who couldn’t be bothered because I eventually did find them, about 100 metres from his little empire and out on the main road. In my defence, I had walked all around the gardens and building but had missed out this corner and so didn’t spot them. Hard to miss I know, but I managed it.

The Supreme Court was odd though. Gowned and wigged barristers, defendants looking very familiar in conspicuous and ill fitting suits alongside their feral, fag puffing entourages, all standing in the shade of palm trees. Half a world away but just like any given weekday outside Southwark Crown Court, apart from the palm trees of course.

So after my arty ponce about, I rode down to Freo, checked into the hostel there and ended up sharing a room with Ange who turns out to be a cartoonist and astronomer. A Pom from London who has lived in Oz for 30 years but never meant to, and is great company.

Anyway, I managed one night in the hostel then woke up feeling very ill; high temperature, the shakes, vomiting, massive headache and more abdo and chest pains. Rather worryingly, Lisa had apparently said a prayer for me the night before, designed to help me heal from the first sickness. I reckon she must have accidentally hexed me, although she no doubt meant well. Either that or God had the hump. I tried getting up but failed because I couldn’t stand up  or walk and it took me several hours before I could get myself together sufficiently, and to the hospital. I was only there for about five minutes and hadn’t even spoken to the triage people but I must have looked a bit of a state because two nurses appeared from the emergency room, dragged me through to the business side and admitted me immediately. And gave me some lovely morphine.....

Luckily, I’d taken my treatment  papers from last week, so they got to the bottom of things quite quickly,  and once again I avoided abdominal surgery because the IV antibiotics did the trick. But the doctors weren’t keen on letting me out to ‘self care’ as they call it, even after two nights, and particularly when they discovered I knew nobody in Perth:

“We can’t let you go unless we know there is somebody nearby who can help you if this happens again”. 

“ But I have to go because I've got a scan on Tuesday morning and I can’t miss that”

“ Maybe we’ll transport you down there and bring you back then”

“ Nooooo..... I’ll be fine, I got myself here this time, so I can do that again should I need to. And anyway, you’ve fixed me.....haven’t you?”. 

“ Yes, but somebody should be with you, just incase”. 

“ Well, there isn’t anybody but I’ll use my EPIRB if I really can’t manage. And anyway, I’ve run out of clean knickers so I have to go’’.

But once again, they quarantined me thanks to me having spent one night in St George’s , Tooting, back in September with epiglotitis. It meant I had my own room, my own bathroom and was well away from other snoring and farting patients in the ward across the corridor. And a great view of the rather funky carpark.

So now I’m back in the hostel and I am actually being a bit cautious until I feel better. Gerty is enjoying the rest too, parked right outside the front door and just under my window. But I forgot to cover her up, so she’s got a bit wet, but needed a bath so its all good.

One of the great things about travelling and staying in hostels is the crossing of paths with other wanders, people whom you would probably otherwise never encounter. The city centre hostels tend to be more gap year or back packer orientated, but those slightly further out is where the seasoned weirdos lurk. And I suppose I’m now one of them, having been on the road for eight months, with no particular agenda other than to keep going, having very few possessions and taking things as they come. I quite like the unencumbered lifestyle, particularly now I know how it goes. It did take a bit of getting used to but I can do it now, having learned who to avoid, who to chat to and that most are self sufficient transients doing their own thing for any number of reasons. Travellers, workers, people between lives and people who like being on the move. All ages, and mostly Poms, Krauts, Dutch, Kiwis, Aussies, with a few other nationalities thrown into the mix.

Fremantle is lovely though, lovely old colonial or Edwardian buildings, a port town and a former dock for ships that plied the oceans long before air became the favoured mode of long distance migration. 

Bookshops, arty farty cafes, more chemists than I have ever seen in one town - either people are really ill here or its a script scam - and an unhurried pace of life. It has a real sense of community and togetherness too, with a bit of substance and history; I really like it.

Off line

Just for a few days..... But back soon!