The Oodnadatta Track and a change of course.

The Oodnadatta Track, legendary outback road! Or so I'm told. It's the old track that follows the old northern railway and the roadhouses that are now there are where the engineers were able to find water , as there were the watering holes of the aboriginal people. You need water for people, but you need a lot of water for a steam engine. The track is entirely dirt for its 680km length and officially starts at the town of Marree. I say town because that's what it's called, the reality is it barely a settlement, not even a village. Once when the train came through I'm sure it had something, but now it's a hot dusty collection of buildings, a gas station, a pub, a campsite and well......fuck all else to be frank.

So it does have everything you need after a long hot ride, so I set up the tent, kick back for awhile, then head to the pub to talk shit with the other travellers that have stopped for the night. It is only travellers there , as the population of 8 either works at the pub, gas station or campsite, sometimes all three. 

I get up well before the sun and pack up camp, breakfast and the other things you have to do in the morning and am on the road for 7am, hitch gives me just enough light to be able to see any large jumping rats or 5ft chickens that happen to be loose on the road. 

This part of Australia is desolate in the extreme, it's not that it doesn't rain, it does, a lot at times, it just soaks away in to the sandy depths, the soil unable to retain the moisture. Around all you see is scrub and rock and vast, vast vistas, the land seem to stretch until the end of the world, it looks and feels like it has no ending, then all of a sudden , lake Eyre appears. I say lake, it's a salt lake, but it's a lake, Australia's largest in fact, 10,000 sq km when full, which it rarely is. It's drainage area covers almost 22% of the Australian continent, filling from as far afield as Queensland. Many due to the fact it is 12 metres below sea level. I can only see the smaller section, the southern, but in such a dry and barren place, any moisture seems out of place.

The ride is interesting because of its shear remoteness, but the road is not exciting, there is fuck all to look at apart from more desert, more rocks and more sand and after the first two hours I hit the corrugations, I hate, hate , hate corrugation! I cannot stress enough what a ball arch this shite is. Now a workman should never blame his tool, however in this case and as much as I love my BMW, the front suspension just can't cope with the oscillation that these formations create, the retirement totally unsettles the front end making it feel like there is no suspension at all.

There comes a point in anything you do in life where a challenge if it becomes a chore, then becomes uninteresting and dull. So after arriving at Williams Creek Roadhouse at the 202km after 5 hours of drudgery, I have to take stock of what I'm trying to achieve here, as at the moment, this ain't it! 

I ponder over a very large burger as to the direction I want this trip to take, both geographically and style. My intention had always ride up the Stuart Hwy and turn left for Aires Rock heading west on the Great Central Road, which is likely to be 1400km of what I've just done and the problem with getting information from drivers, they have no idea what it's like to ride a bike, only a Landcruiser.

With a pounding head arch I decide that I'm altering the trip completely and head west 169km from Williams Creek to the mining town of Coober Pidy. The road is worse that the Oodnadatta, mainly as it get little traffic, it also get little maintance. It's corrugated and very sandy and remote. For the four hours I'm on there I see two other vehicles. 

I arrive in to Coober Pidy at around 5pm and opted for the unusual option of camping underground. Folks around here have learnt to build houses in to the soft sandstone, firstly because they were and still are , all miners , second it's a lot cooler and third the billions of flies that inundated every orifice as soon as its exposed, or any other object with the slightest moisture. It's quite amazing to walk through a door and all the flies simply vanish, but I'm not complaining. I set my tent up in my allotted alcove and relax in it's cool air. This of course sounds great and at dirt I thing it's bloody marvellous, however as people get in to their own night time rhythm, you of course get the snorers, which is compounded by the cave, ear plugs in!

The following day I head out on to the Stuart Hwy and encounter my first road train, the legendary Ozzy trucks that are now only three trailers long, they used to be up to five apparently. With a length of approx 150 they are true monsters of the road. Heading down the Stuart is to say the least dull, it's a more of less straight road from Port Augusta , South Australia  to Darwin in the Northern Territories . The scenery at times is beautiful in its bleakness, but with little to occupy the mind and the constant heavy down pours of rain, it's a tedious but necessary 560km journey to Port Augusta where I have booked a hotel for the next couple of nights. And there is nothing like a warm hotel room and a soft bed to welcome you on a pissy dark night.

Everyone told me that Port Augusta had nothing going for it, I beg to differ, but sometimes when your on the road the simplest of things are what you are after. All with in walking distance; a laundromat, a pizza restaurant, a motorcycle shop and a bottle shop, perfect!The day off is filled with a lazy breakfast, laundry, jet was the bike, check the bike, then most importantly, fuck all.

On the morning of Saturday 22nd April I leave Port Augusta as 7.30am, the sun is shining, but there's a nip in the air, perfect for biking. I'm straight out on to the Eyre Hwy which crosses the bottom of Australia, all the way to Norseman, nearly 1200 miles to the west. The ride is easy, just long, very long. I lose count of the distance I cover in the first day, but I arrive at the small town of Penong home to Australia's biggest wind will (fuck me) , but get advised to take a turn off to the beach where there is a lovely little campsite and there is! It's 20km off the main road, but well worth the effort, passing pristine sand dunes and pink salt lakes. I get there in time to set up camp and watch the sun set over the ocean, what more does a man need. Well three local lads are having a fire and invite me down for a glass or two of red wine. Good banter, wine and a fire, I'll take that.

I'm early the next day and ready to do some miles, there's not much else to do to be honest other than ride over the Nallobor Plain , other than crossing this dull piece of landscape, I can't honestly remember the day, it was not exciting, I just remember pulling in to a dull road house somewhere , but nowhere and setting up tent, eating and going to bed and there was some weird time change of 45 mins, who the fuck does that. 

I'm now counting the kms down as the end of the road, well this road count down, which is only 528 today. Somewhere on this stretch I encounter the "longest straight road in Australia" which as I don't actually remember seeing a bend, well not as I know it, in the past two days , does slightly confuse me. It's a 146km stretch of road that is arrow straight, but it all just blends in to the scenery of other straight roads in this country.

Finally I reach Norseman, a pleasant enough small town that has a camp site with shade, a drive through bottle shop that will only sell me one bottle or a case of beer, a supermarket and all importantly they are having a ANZAC day remembrance the following day, 25th April. 

Melbourne to the Outback

I leave Melbourne in the bright Victoria sunshine on Good Friday and head towards the Great Ocean Road and within an hour its pissing down. Now I expect the GOR to be busy, it's Easter after all, however what I have not counted on is the enormous amount of Chinese, either on buses or behind the wheel of rental cars, there are fucking thousands of them, like some kind of Asia plague. Now the sun has come out and the views over the ocean, at times are great, but given the proximity of the road to an urban sprawl, where a tourist can get buses in for the day, frankly I find the experience flat. The road is ok, but not the motorcycle me a I have been lead to believe and certainly not worthy of a large detour to see. It might be one of Australia's great roads, but it's not one of the worlds great roads. As for the Twelve Apostles, they are OK in isolation, but given the clamor and swam or hundreds of people vying for the best selfie spot........I could have left this one.

With a certain amount of relief I head away from the coast, not just relief to be away from the hoard, but I like to plough my own furrow, I like the road less travelled, not the already well beaten one. I ride north through the lush countryside towards the town of Hamilton. I pull in to a campsite around 5.30pm, put up the tent then cross the road to order fish and chips.

I break camp the following day at 7.30am and head to the town of Horsham, where I grab a coffee and get a Telstra SIM card, as Vodaphone has zero coverage outside of Sydney it would appear. I have a long hot ride to the country town of Mildura on the banks of the Murray River. It's a balmy evening at the towns folk and weekenders are strolling the rivers promenade as the sun sinks over the horizon. I dine of BBQ sausages washed down  with a fine local Shiraz.

Again out of camp early I travel the 300km to Broken Hill and I really feel the heat start to build as I reach the real outback. Broken Hill is a silver town, the mining still continues, but it's glory days have passed and it's a rather run down fly blown place. I ride out 25km to the small settlement of Silverton, where not only is there the legendary Silverton Hotel, but also the Mad Max Muesum, where I met the owner and founder Adrian, a lad form Birmingham.

After a visit the the aforesaid Muesum, I ride out a futher 5 km to the Mundi Mundi lookout, where not only can you see the curvature of the arth, but it's where they filmed Mad Max 2!!! I camp in Silverton and have dinner and a beer to the hotel, it is now feeling like the outback.

The following day I ride the 440km to Hawker, the jump off point for the Flinders Range and the Oodnadatta Track. Hawker is on the map, but there is little to it other than a gas station and a campsite. I pitch up eat  and bed down. Up before dawn, I'm packed and ready to go be daylight which is about 7am. I ride through the Finders, which are ok and it's an interesting rock formation, but I'm not too taken. I arrive at the tiny town of Blinman where amazingly I have a Cornish pasty, who would have thunk it. 

I take the dirt road through the Parachilna Gorge, which is a great 30km stretch of dirt road through some lovely rock formations that millions of years of tectonic movements and weather have created. I reach Parachilna on the B83 and can't resist an emu burger, "feral" meat is their specialty, you can also have camel or kangaroo. It's now hot, fucking hot and dry to be honest. The ride up to Marree is both hot and dusty, a little of what's to come...............?

Australia, the first few days

It took ten days to get my bike through customs and a quarantine inspection, which was longer than I hoped or planned for .  I was rather surprised that when I attended the inspection and the officer found some small amount of dirt tucked away, which he said would need to be cleaned off, when I asked if I could do it there and then, one he said I could just wipe it off with a rag and two when I asked what to do with the now "contaminated" cloth, he said "just take it with you". Umm so much for bio hazard!

This was all done on Friday 7th April, however due to the inefficiency of the system, I was unable to collect the bike until after the weekend. So on Monday 10th rented a van, drove to the warehouse, removed the bike from the crate and loaded both up. Once back at Nina's house I had everything unloaded and the bike ready for the next leg of the trip by 5pm. 

Tuesday 11th April at 7am I ride out of Sydney, crossing the world famous harbour bridge and getting glimpses of the Opera House. There are few city scales in the world that are so synonymous with a countries identity, but this is one. I take the main hwy towards Canberra and I have covered the 400km to Cooma by 1pm, where I stop for lunch and warm up, as it has been a bloody chilly ride, something that I wasn't expecting. From Cooma I head to Jindabyne in the mountains of Victoria. I punch in the next destination of Buchan which will take me through the Kosciuszko NP and home to Australia's highest mountain at 2229m, more a hill than a mountain ;)

The GPS says its 170km to Buchan, which as its now 3.30pm and it gets dark at 6pm is doable, the map shows this road as small and through the mountains, just the kind of thing I enjoy. It doesn't however show it as a dirt road, which it turns to after 20km. Now that isn't a problem, apart from its slower, which put my hopes of getting to Buchan before dark in doubt. I push on as it is beautiful gum tree covered rolling hills and the road is in great condition. I have my first sightings of wild kangaroos and a few emu. To see Roos hoping around in the forest and some with their baby Joes, it's a truly Australian sight, and is a highlight of the day.

I'm about halfway along the route when the sky darkens and it starts to rain, which puts pay to my idea of camping up by the river. The one golden rule there is in motorcycle travel is never travel at night, it's simply too dangerous, especially when there are large animals bouncing around the place, that when the light fades, are almost impossible to see. Yet this is the scenario I am now left with, ride on in dangerous conditions, or camp up in the rain. Perhaps foolishly I ride on, but at a very slow pace, even then a few times I catch from the corner of my eyes the movement of one of these large marsupials which can stand 6 foot tall. I finally pull in to Buchan at 7.30pm, exhausted and slightly annoyed with myself for misjudging the length of the day and leaving myself in a vulnerable position, I know better.

I quickly set up the tent, ate a small meal, enjoyed a hot shower and was sound asleep by 9pm. I woke at 6.30am the following day, and on my way the the loos almost fell over a kangaroo who was minding his own business in camp, quietly chewing some grass, I'm not sure who was more surprised, but it was a lovely start to the day.

I'm on the road by 8am and heading towards the coast, not that the road really touches the sea, but I weave from small country town to small country town, each Main Street lined with a collection of Utes , while there owners go about some business in town, picking up sillies for the farm, having breakfast with other country folk and chewing the fat of life. The towns do have a similar feel, being built at roughly the same period, they all have a bank, a church, a lawyers office, a general store and now days a cafe. No town regardless of how small is complete without a flat white refill station!

Again the weather is chilly and there are intermittent light shower, but no Roos to hamper the speed. I arrive at Antony's house at 5.30pm, he is one of many fri nods I made while in my two months residency in Mendoza back in 2009, after my accident just outside the town. He's a good lad, despite being from the north of England, no ones perfect I guess. We have a couple of cold beers before heading out for a steak dinner and a good catch up. The following day is a whistle stop tour of Melbourne, which strikes me as a nice town it live, but not a tourist must; but then I'm a hard man to please.

First Days in New Zealand

I arrive in to Auckland , New Zealand on the afternoon of Friday 10th February and I'm pick d up by Brenton who I met while riding the TAT across the US. After a long over night flight I'm keen for a cold beer and a shower, in that order. Brenton and his wife Maria do me a sumptuous dinner and far too much win is consumed,  as should happen when old friendships are reacquainted.

Over the weekend I'm given the tourist treatment and indulged in far too much good food. Sunday I prep the bike and get all my gear ready as we are leaving early Monday morning. At 6 am we are both up and packing the bikes, a small breakfast and then we hit the road, for a full 2 miles; a man needs coffee in the morning 😎☕️

Tanks and caffeine topped up, we ride off on a damp and drizzly Auckland morning to do battle with the dense traffic. By 11am we have encountered the first dirt road and the Im reacquainted with how badly the GS handles on dirt, and vein with the right tyres. It's big, ponderous and a handful when it's wet and it's very very wet. I slither and slide up and down the tight twisty hills of the north island, as Brenton effortlessly, well actually skilfully, handles his old XTZ750 through the densely wooded terrain. 

The rain is now coming down in sheets and the hill tops are mist shrouded, making visibility poor and the going slower than we would like. After 2 hours of constant rain we eventually find tar road again and set the GPS to fastest route to get us to our destination, this is not enjoyable. We make good progress and enroute find a warm cafe to pull in to, a bonus of traveling in NZ is the abundance of such establishments, where a flat white can be knocked up in no time.

We arrive at a small roadside motel in the middle of the north island (the name of the town escapes me, it was not exciting) for the night and meet up with three other lads that are riding down with us. It's an old school place, which would not be out of keeping in a 1970's American film, which might actually be much of NZ, there is a slightly behind the time feel here, not in a bad way, more just quaint. 

I'm up early the following day, but Jenny the motel supervisor isn't not, breakfast starts at 8am! By 8.30 we are all on the road and it's raining. We pull in for gas after half an hour, it should be routine, even with 5 riders, but on of the KTM's won't start. After an hour we have it running, but without really identifying what the problem was. I don't like Orange.

The rain clears and we start on to a dirt road that leads us through beautiful grass covered hill, with the obligatory sheep and a fast flowing river in the valley below. 

After several days on the road we arrive in Fairlie to register for the Dusty Butt adventure riding, a three days gravel road ride through what is I hope spectacular country side. The previously day I experienced my first trail bike sections, with a couple of stream crossing, which on the fully loaded GS was a challenge, as it weighs a ton.

We over night in the town of Methven a small ski town that is full of gap year students from Europe thanking a year out from the stress of study. The boys arrive an hour after me , as I have taken the tar option, so I have the JD and coke ready in the fridge for when they arrive. It's the gentlemanly thing to do.

The following day is going to be a relaxed affair, so we have a lay in and a relaxed breafast before  taking a slow ride to Fairlie. Once here we settle in to our motel, then grab some previsions for breakfast, as it's going to be an early start. 

To the South

Sometimes a man has to know his limitations and his bikes! I've been entered into an adventure ride called the Dusty Butt, a 1400km ride through some of the most beautiful scenery the South Island has to offer, which sounds great, but after hauling my bike over the Rainbow Road and now faced with trying to ride along with guys mainly on either enduro or light weight trail bikes, I have to realise I'm out of my depth, even with all the luggage removed. I do a section called the Densey Pass, which is relatively easy dirt road, but I'm not here to be a hero and fling myself and the bike in to a big hill or canyon, I bow out gracefully.

The following day I head for the South Land and the Catlins, a rugged and weather beaten part of the world, where the world end and the next stop is Antartica. Many of the place names have their roots in Scotland, as many of the settlers heralded from there and the similarity to the west coast of Scotland is striking, perhaps the place names such as Dunedin help with that thought.

I camp for the first time on this trip at Curio Bay, a rugged outcrop of rock, that gives shelter to the calm waters of Porpoise Bay. One side has crashing surf pummelling the rocks, the other has gently rolling waves coming up the golden sands. I set up my tent amongst flax grass, which is not like grass I have seen before, it stands 8 feet high, so offers excellent protection from the stiff sea breeze. It's a glorious sunny afternoon and I take a walk along the headland and sit to watch the relentless motion of the sea doing battle with the rock. I take the opportunity for a snooze as the sounds of nature fill my head, and all of life's worries evaporate.

Of course this all sounds idilic, until the very cold and damp sea mist rolls in and shatters my utopia. I wake in the morning to a sodden tent and a long wait for the sun to get rid of this ghostly monster. I brake camp and ride up to Slope Point, the southern most place in New Zealand, except for a couple of islands. It's a dramatic scene of jagged rock pointing out to the South Pole in one direction and to the east, America, many many miles away.

My guide book leads me past Invercargill, to the town of Rivington, which is famous for something, but right at this point all I'm thinking of is my stomach and I head to the recommended pit stop of the Beach House Cafe, to sample their excellent and well worth the wait, seafood chowder. I remount my bike with the sun in my face and satisfied belly.