The time
had come to put some serious kilometres on the bike. It hadn’t done a really
long haul since Christmas/New year. Some long-time friends in Toowoomba
There was
a time when
Wednesday: I
roll out the driveway of the
Russell
is also writing his autobiography. This is nothing remarkable until you realise
that there are 25 years of outback motorcycle rides and rallies all
meticulously recorded in journals over the years. Me? Well I’m the proof-reader
come editor ‘cos truck drivers don’t spell real good. But Russell has a great
empathy for the written word and we’re adding some polish to the manuscript
today and tomorrow.
Friday: 7.20 am
I’m on the road and heading north to Lockhart in a perfect temperature. This
area has had six months of good rain. “The corn is as high as an elephant’s
eye” … it would be, if they had planted any corn; but it’s nearly all wheat,
and Patterson’s Curse.
Narrandera,
Leeton. Don’t ask me why you would be still trying to grow rice in
If I
thought I had gone from chocolates to boiled lollies in half a day, worse is to
follow. Heading off the highway to Cobar, I pick up a little wisp of dirt road
just where the map says it would be. 124 kilometers to Nymagee; my destination
for fuel, food and to camp out. Not only is 124 k’s a hell of a long way but
the township is one of the worst I’ve ever seen. Deserted buildings everywhere.
The petrol servo shut down 10 years ago, no grocery shop … just a pub with no
food and a big police station. And this place is 95 kilometers from the nearest
town. Far out.
Saturday: I slept on an old picnic table last night,
which means that very first light has me awake and on the road by 7am. Gently,
gently on the throttle and the last of my fuel gets me in to Cobar where I
immediately raid the IGA supermarket for breakfast.
Today’s
destination is Byrock on the Nyngan/Bourke road and the purpose of the
rendezvous is a pub dinner/one night rally of the OAR (Outback Australia
Riders). Sixty-seven kilometres of “interesting” dirt road has me arrive at
Byrock (one pub, one shop) by noon.
Hey, I’m
only the second one here this year. I’ve been upstaged by a bloke on one of
those dual-purpose XLV shaft-drive750cc vee-twins that Honda made about twenty
years ago. You know, the deep-red and black ones that were a heap of rubbish
but which refuse to die.
Throughout
Saturday afternoon the riders roll in, with a final tally of about 3
representing 4 states. Not a bad effort for an over-nighter. Most popular
motorcycle is anything in the BMW GS series, but then, there’s no accounting
for taste.
Our hosts
at the pub have logs on a fire, holes dug in the ground and cast-iron oven pots
at the ready. Yes, they proceed to make a camp-fire cooked dinner for us. Lamb
and vegetables, followed up with damper and golden syrup. It was worth riding
the 900 kilometers just for the damper.
Monday: This is
such a tough life that I have Sunday off as a rest day. But come Monday I’m on
the road again headed east nor’east. Lots of dirt today and the first 70
kilometers goes easily. Emus, goats, kangaroos, all let me know that I’m in
outback
At
Gongolgon I’m due to pick up a station access track for 65 k’s on past
‘Billybingbone’. Don’t you just love the place names out here. I’ve been riding
with both digital odometers switched on which is a big bonus of the modern day
trail bike. I can monitor total k’s since last fuel with one, and distances
between geographical points with the other.
A short
distance in and I notice a reasonable amount of water on the track. Last night
I could see lightening over this way and now we know why. Pressing on, the
track just gets softer. It’s like riding with the rear brake on. I spin the
bike around and ride back out to the long way around. Good decision, Leslie, as
the rain will be ahead of me all the way to Goondiwindi.
At
Walgett, there were the tell-tale steel bars and mesh on all the retail outlets.
Yes, well … I guess we screwed up badly on that one. Fuel up and head out to
Collarenabri and Mungindi. My original plan was to take station tracks on the
other side of the river. But great channels of water lying beside the road
reinforce the correct choice.
Little
did I know that a compulsory 95 kilometers of dirt road was going to give me
all the riding challenge I needed. Stone the crows. The road has slimey mud
holes in some areas and mud set like concrete in others. The whole surface has
been cut to shreds by trucks and a dry crust doesn’t mean it is dry underneath.
Earlier
in the day I had been thinking that I needed a bigger bike for this long
distance riding. But right now the little 400 is back in favour over a BMW1200
GS. The GS would have found itself parked on a concrete culvert, the only
stable land, just like the semi-trailer that I find out there. He’s already destroyed
the track and decided to sit it out until the next day.
As I ride
along I work out an interesting mathematical formula to help my riding. (The amount of rain plus type of road soil)
minus (heat of sun plus wind speed) all divided
by the weight of the bike equals the speed at which one can ride.
Just when
I had done the maths and got the hang of it, the road would change from greasy
brown to sandy orange and I would have to start the calculation all over again.
95 kilometers of this was a damn long way when I roll into Mungindi. I am
stuffed. My arms have the strength of wet noodles.
Is it
over? No. The road to Goondiwindi has another 50 k’s for me. Shit. I am having
a lousy day. My bum is sore from perching on a 150 mm wide seat, my ear holes
are in agony from the ear plugs and to add insult to injury, I finally catch
the storm 30 k’s before Goondiwindi. Yes, the whole paraphernalia of
waterproofs has to go on. But I haven’t tossed the Suzuki down the road, and
that is always a comfort at the end of the day.
Tuesday: Let me see now … Goondiwindi to Toowoomba 220
kilometers. Climate cool, overcast but clearing. Bike, fettled back to
reasonable condition after yesterday. OK. Let’s roll.
The
highway through Millmerran is basically a race track for semi-trailers going up
the
The flat,
black-soil plains of the Darling Downs drift by. All farmed to within an inch
of its life by countless generations of tillers of the land. It suddenly occurs
to me why I left home in Toowoomba 42 years ago. This is dirt farmers’ country.
This is
As well
as visiting my friends, east of Toowoomba and just below the steep descent of
the
I catch
up with his son at the Honda dealership where he has worked for 22 years. I
visit his widow, now in her late sixties. Life’s strange isn’t it.
Nowdays
you purchase a motorbike and very little else. I was lucky enough to buy the
bike, and inherit a mentor for free.
I’ve lost
count of the number of times I’ve done the Brisbane/Toowoomba to
Les Leahy