Port Hedland, Broom, through the Northern Territories and to the eastcoast of Queensland

It's strange how friendships start, but highly unusual that they start over a turd! But that is the case with Edi and his wife to be Debbie. I met Edi while photographing Weano Gorge and discovering that some twat had done a huge crap in one of the pools that you have to walk through. What the fuck goes through people's minds, if anything.

Edi and his wife to be Debbie where camped in the same camp sight and being a fellow Brit he invited me to join them for sundowners. Both Deb and Edi work in Port Hedland for the Royal Flying Doctors Service. Now PH is on the coast, but it's not exactly a dream destination, for work or play. It's Australia's largest iron ore port, where's the billions of tons pulled out of WA are shipped off, mainly to China for steel production. Because of this, the town is blanketed in red dust, almost permanently, giving it a rusty glow.

Edi and Debs where heading home the following day and PH was going to be a ride through destination for me, however the offer of a bed with real sheets and a hot home cooked meal was simple too good to refuse. It is one of the great things about travel, random offers of hospitality from strangers, it's such a generous thing to do, especially when they are great company. So thanks Edi and Debs, I hope we meet again on the path of life, beers and wine are on me.

Recharged I head off in to the heat of northern WA in the direction of Broome. Once famous for its natural pearls and still a large producer of them, though mainly farmed ear drinks on Cable Beach I get some back ground on the place.  It's a 400 mile windy, hot ride, with nothing to break the monotony other than two road houses for fuel and coffee. I reach the one turn I have to do that day at approx 6pm, just as the sun sets. I stop at the road house park my bike , quickly jump in to my swimmers and dive in to the poll, which feels like absolute bliss

In the morning I dine on the biggest breakfast I have had placed in front of me for many a month, then ride to Broome and find a camp site on the beach. I do very little today other than chill in the shade and let the day pass by. At sunset I meet up with a friend from the UKs daughter, who now lives here and I get some back ground on the place. The bar we are drinking at is part of the .........Hotel, which was set up for some unexplainable reason by Sir Robert McAlpine, the founder on one of the UKs largest building companies.

I leave Broome and head towards Fitzroy Crossing on the Great Northern Hwy ( Australia loves to call things great; Great Ocean Road, Great Central Road. Perhaps it was Aussies that first called Britain, Great Britain. Oh the irony). It's now that I stat to encounter greater numbers of aboriginal people, however I'm sad to say the people you find in the towns are normally inebriated on either booze, glue or some other substance. In these regions they sell a special petrol called Opal, it has low aromatic properties, ie you can't get high on it, how sad. 

I stop the night at Lamarah Station, which is a small farm between Fitzroy Crossing and Halls Creek it's a basic place, but there is a shower and somewhere to cook and eat, plus the best star show I have seen to date.

My next stop is Purnululu NP which is home to the famous Bungle Bungle rock formations. I take a 4x4 tour out to the rock as the 53 km entrance rock is not suitable to my bike. The photos don't back up my statement here, but this has to be the biggest disappointment of the trip. In part to the fact that I've heard the place raved about both on TV and be people I have met, so my expectations are running high. Now this statement can be misinterpreted as perhaps travel fatigue or blasé words. But I was genuinely disappointed, they are pretty and unusual, but frankly not worth the effort, which I have to say is a lot of Australia. This will offend many, but it's how I feel. It has it places, but so much of the country is just not world class scenery, perhaps it's the lack of mountains!

From the Bungles I head to Kununurra and to lake Argyle, which in fact is not a lake, but a reservoir on the Ord river. It's volume still makes it Australia's second largest 'lake', so it's a large body of water. I relax at my campsite, which has an out of place, but very enjoyable infinity pool. There are worse ways to end the day.

The following day I take the Victoria Hwy to Katherine and to the Nitmiluk NP and home of the Katherine Gorge. The following morning I walk for five hours taking in the gorge at its Verizon's viewing spots, it's a hot exposed walk and once back in camp it's time foe a dip in the pool and put my sore feet up and watch the wallabies nibbling at the grass and the fruit bats flap their wings as they hang in the trees, endeavouring to stay cool.   

I leave Katherine at around 7.30 am and pass through the town of Mataranka which is famous for its hot springs. Now forgive me here , but I'm here in the winter and its 33 degrees, so why the fuck do I want to get in a hot spring? On a damp cold day in Iceland I see the appeal, but in roasting hot outback Australia, you're having a fucking laugh.

Therefore I don't stop at Mataranka and carry on to the road house at Daly Waters, which has to be the most eclectic RH I have stopped at and even though it's only 12.30, I seriously consider pitching the tent and enjoy a cold one or two with the already half cut locals. But instead I make do with a Bara Burger ( Barramundi, it's a fish). The other great piece of history  there have here is the Stuart Tree, so name because the explorer.......... Stuart supposedly carved his name in to it on finding this place. Clearly BS as the tree truck is still standing and there is bugger all on it.  

I turn east off the Stuart Hwy, named after said explorer, and take the Carpentaria Hwy, which is mainly single track and arrive after 267km at the RH of Cape Crawford. Now this sounds like a place on the sea, it is not, it's just scrub and bush, but there have fuel and cold beer.

The following day I head south on the Tablelands Hwy, 378km with absolutely nothing, no stopping points, no fuel. It's again mainly single track and with everything around here, road trains have priority, other vehicles with put two wheels on the dirt, but for a RT, you get of the road totally and frankly you don't want one of those half on half off the road, they would throw up all sorts of shite. By 3pm I'm at the RH of Barkly Station, which is surprisingly modern, with a good bar and a better swimming pool, where I head for a dip.  

My destination for the next day is Mount Isa, which is a mining town and very industrial, but a good place to stock up on food and break the journey. But mid way there I change my mind, as I often do and turn north on the dirt road towards Gregory Downs. It's 222km of the best dirt road I have ridden in Australia and an absolute pleasure to ride. This is helped by the fact that there is scenery, scenery that is rolling and not just flat, there are hills, not big ones, but I've almost forgotten what there are.

 Gregory Downs is not what you can call a town, there is a pub that sells fuel and there is a bloke called Morris who sells tinned food from a 20ft container that has been converted in to a shop, which also boasts the 'best Coffee in town' by the virtue that it is the only coffee in town! He does also allow people to camp in his back yard for free, why I don't really understand, as he has gone to the trouble of putting in toilets and showers.

I head to the Gregory Downs pub which is quintessential outback Australia. Made of timber with a lino floor covering, slightly ramshackle and not sitting straight on its foundations, but then I doubt it actually has any. I enjoy a great steak with pepper sauce, followed by an entertaining conversation with the landlady, who at first has the broadest of Australian ancients, however as we chat this starts to slip and it turns out she is originally for the uk, coming over 50'years ago and to prove its a small world, her sister now lives in Chelmsford.

As I amble back to my tent I enjoy the light show of a distant thunder storm, the clods are simply filled with light. I can't hear any thunder as its so distant, but at 2am the storm is over head and the ensuing down pour swamps my tent and I really fear that it will collapse in the fierce wind. Within twenty minutes it's blown past, but I'm left with two inches of water outside my tent and it's slowing getting through the holes that have been put in the ground sheet from camping on stoney ground in WA.

I have no choice but to more to slightly higher ground, or just get out of the tent. At first I try to sleep on a near by table, but the rain has brought out the mozzies and there are veracious in their blood lust. I pull the tent out of the water and find a piece of soil that is at least higher. It's a grim damp nights sleep.

By 7am the sun is up and shinning bright and I can start to dry everything out and while I'm doing so I enjoy a cup of the best coffee in town and a good chat with my host. There is always something fascinating about people who desire to make a life in such remote places and I have true admiration for them. You have to be so self sufficient, admittedly not as much as you used to have to be, you don't have to hunt, you can have a generator and you can use a car not a horse. But you still have to take yourself way from the so called trappings of the 'civilised ' world.

Due to the rain I take the sealed road to Kurumba which is on the Gulf of Carpentaria and such a disappointment, in fact it's simply awful. The first sign of this is the song song going on at the campsite and the staff dressed in Hawaiian shirts. I turn around and head back down the road a bit to a camp away from the sea, make some food and hit the hay, with a very early start in mind.

From Karumba I ride through to the ex gold mining town of Croydon, which in its hay day used to be Queensland's largest and richest town, sporting no less than  30 pubs and streets with gas lighting. It's a lovely sunny day and the temperature is just right for riding, or relaxing. As I'm feeling bushed from the lack of sleep lost in the night of the floating tent and I quite fancy a day in an outback town, I decide to stay, it's only 11.30 , so it's an opportunity to put my feet up in the sun, swing in the pool and have a cheeky sundown beer.

Duly exercised and relaxed I head to the Club Hotel,that was established in 1887 and sit on the veranda as the sun slips over the horizon. I have a chat with the locals about outback living and working on the cattle stations that are the main employment around these parts. Plus living with the heat and the torrential rain that can come through here. I thought I had it bad two nights prior with two inches, the same night they had six!

My next port of call is Endurance , which has some larva tubes, but these can only be visited on a tour and I'm really not in the mood to be talked to like a numpty, which I'm  afraid tour guide have an ability to do, or perhaps that's just their way of dealing with the public who are mainly stupid. On route I have picked up some sausage for the bbq, by the time I get there they are not fully defrosted, so I leave them on the bike while I have a swim; mistake! By the time I get back the crows and the Hawks have demolished the lot, there is just the wrapping floating around the floor, tuna and couscous it is tonight then :(

Today Monday 22nd of May will be six weeks since I left Sydney and I will again reach the east coast of Australia. I ride up towards Mission Beach and as I reach the Great Dividing Range (note great again!) and gain altitude, at last I again to see greenery and real trees, not those scrawny almost green things that cover the majority of Australia, and grass, real green grass and proper black and white diary cows, not the floppy eared Bramahas   that originate in India and are ideally suited to the harshness of the barren outback. 

The air is cool, almost cold and fresh to the nose. The roads have bends and corners and the hills, there are views, not just straight roads lined with knackered old trees, or worse, absolutely fuck all, just flat, flat, flat. Australia has been a strange place to ride around, it really is not a motorcycle destination, but I will come back to that. For now I will just drink in the pleasure of this ride.

Mission Beach is a long stretch of sand that faces out towards the barrier reef in the far distance and lined with coconut palms, so it's fitting that I camp right on the beach and cook up some prawns on the bbq, scrumptious! Paradise does not last for ever though and I walk to rain, not heavy but the cloud says it's not going away fast. My best option is to pack up quickly and head to my next destination for some R&R, Magnetic Island here I come........

Karijini National Park

I've seen many canyons on my travels, but few compare to those of Karijini. There are bigger, there are more dramatic, but I don't believe there are any quite so beautiful. The two I visit on my first day are Weano and Handcock, both are class 5 , which means you have to scramble over wet rock and at time swim through pools and there are a few steep descents. It's all easy enough, they are only about 30 metres deep, so the descent in is easy, the fun it the pools and climbing through the polished canyons and taking in the delicate work nature has completed over millions of years. 

What you are looking at is an ancient sea bed, you can see the layers of silica and sand that have been laid down and then compressed . The rock is rich in iron ore which is black, it's the oxidisation that gives it it's red colour, the same as rust.

Weano leads down to Handrail Pool, named of course because there is a handrail that is required for you to climb down the final stage, so imaginative. I have the pool to myself for quite sometime and sit back and take in its perfect roundness and colouring. The whole place has a feel that the worlds best landscapers have all joined forces to create the perfect canyon, it really is just that.

The following day I head to Dales Gorge, which is in its own right perfect, starting at Fern Pool, blue in colour and feed by a small waterfall and surrounded by red rock, it's hard to fault. This then flows to another larger waterfall, which is picture post card, it's fault is that the rock strata it's made from is perfectly horizontal, making for perfect chairs. As its easy to walk to this makes a perfect family swimming hole and selfie opportunity..............

I walk along the valley floor for about an hour until I come to the end at Circular Pool, yes it's a circle. All the water here is spring feed and Dales is feed from both ends, it flows to near the middle, then dis operas back in to the rock. This is defiantly a highly of the trip and possibly in to my top ten must see places in the world, just too beautiful.  

Whale Sharks

I've wanted to swim with whale sharks for a long time, as I guess many other have too, so when passing Exmouth at this time of year, you can't pass the opportunity up. I travel out to Ningaloo Reef with one of the local companies, I say travel but in reality you are about half a mile off shore, just outside the reef and the crashing surf. 

There's twenty punters on board and we are divided in to two groups of ten. We are given our safety brief, ie don't be a twat and respect the animal. It's a well oiled machine they have in place, with two spotter planes in the air, which are shared by the three companies that run the boat trips. The position and direction of the sharks are radio down and the boats slowly make they way to the location. The skipper places the boat a couple of hundred yards ahead of the shark, then one team at a time gets in the water and waits for the critter to swim slowly by, at which time you try, at a suitably safe distance, to keep,up with it. Which as they seem to hardly move looks easy, it is not.

With effortlessly ease these great majestic creatures glide through the ocean as they have done for the past 200 million years, slowly sifting the plankton through their enormous mouths.

The first sight of these great fish is mesmerising, such beauty, such size, such gentility and grace. It's not an inexpensive thing to do , which I begrudge not in the slightest. You just hope that from the business generated , that these endangered fish will somehow get the protection they need.

We have 4 swims and see three different sharks, on the last one I get my closest encounter as one swims directly at me. I move out of its way and swim  parallel to its pectoral fin at a distance of 9 feet. The moment only last for about ten seconds, but in those precious seconds, the time and effort in getting all the way to this point of the world is repaid handsomely.

ANZAC Day and reaching the west coast

I have great admiration for the way both New Zealand and Australia remember and teach the younger generations the sacrifices that were made during the First World War and in following conflicts. I never really understood this until ten years ago I was fortunate enough to be able to attend the dawn service for ANZAC Day at Gallipoli in Turkey. 

Gallipoli was on my route through Turkey, but the ceremony was not a conscious on my radar, I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. It was however a deeply moving service, in part due to its location on the cliffs of Gallipoli and the thought of young boys being ordered to attack up cliffs, as they had been landed at the wrong location.

There were speeches from politicians who proclaim to feel a nations loss and the pain those at home must have felt, all bollocks as normal, but what did feel special was the amount the Aussie and Kiwi kids that had made the effort to come and pay their respects at a place that is part for both countries national psyche.

I reflected then that is was sad we did not teach our younger generation enough about the First World War. They may know a little about the second, but the first is ancient history for them. How ever as a nation is was also a defining moment, indeed for the British Empire. The world and our nation would never be the same and it laid open the twentieth century to a new direct, both good and bad.

So it felt correct to attend the ANZAC dawn service again while in Australia on 25th April, this time in the small town of Norseman, WA. I strolled through the dark streets at 5.30am to the small gathering at the war memorial in the centre of town. There were around 35 people in attendance and an assortment of local police and no doubt a mayor. It was very respectful, peaceful and in a way calming. The speeches were made, the flags were raised and the last post was played through a rather temperamental PA system. I spoke to a few of the attendees and was invited to breakfast at the town hall just opposite, it was a charming gesture.

After eggs , bacon and toast I walked back to vamp and packed everything away and got ready for the road. I decided to take the dirt road through to Hyden , the road is good and smooth, with only a minor damp patches and the odd road train. It's a national holiday, so most people are busy do nothing. In Hayden there is a strangely shaped rock formation that looks like a wave and of course is called Wave Rock. I push on to do more miles, the sky is clear and it's not oppressively hot and I reach the town of Corrrigin with an hour to go before sunset, perfect.

In the morning I'm up and on the road for 7.30 and enjoy the chill of the morning air, before stopping for coffee in York, Australia's first inland settlement, apparently. From here I head to Fremantle, for one purpose only, to visit the last resting place of the worlds greatest rock front man, Bon Scott of AC/DC! 

I stop for lunch over looking the Indian Ocean just north of Perth and let the moment sink in; I've crossed Australia coast to coast! I relax in the warm sea breeze before heading to the small coastal town of Lancelin, which I'm assured by a couple at the cafe is a lovely place to spend a night. I arrive to this shabby dump to watch a magnificent sunset of the Indian Ocean and stay in rough and ready caravan park, where most of the vans are of the static variety, I've trailer trash ! The supermarkets closed and the only restaurant is a chip shop. But this all made up for by the spectacular sunset.

I ride just 250 miles to my rest stop of Geraldton, where I have organised a front tyre and for the oil to be replaced. I drop in to the dealership and make sure all is good for the following day before finding a campsite, high I do just by the beach. Once I sit down I feel overcome with tiredness having done 7 big days riding, I need to get jobs done and then take a rest. Ingest the bike in to the dealer for 8 am and try to find some breakfast, but I struggle and end up having fried rice and coffee at some strange establishment. On the way back I bump in to a fella that I met the previous day when trying to find the campsite and he offers to show me around town, at least what there is of it.

Now here lies a grudge I have with Lonely Planet. I chose Geraldton as a stop point, as its not too big and you can "soak up some coffee and culture in Geraldtons museums, galleries and cafes". Well there's a problem straight away using the word culture when connected to any where in Australia, but the LP description of Geraldton is so far off the make as can ever imagine. It even has it as one of WA's must see highlights, which might say more for the lack of anything of interest than it does about LP. The fact remains that the town is little more than a mid way staging post when driving up the west coast and a giant grain and iron ore port, all on its way to China. 

The only thing of mild interest is the memorial to the HMAS Syney that was lost in battle with a Germany ship in 1941, with the loss of all 645 men on board. Ross my guide does however show me one great experience and that is taking his Toyota 4wd down a the beach and then across the sand dunes, which was a real blast.

Bike collected, laundry and shopping done, it was time to put my feet up and have a barbie and of course with a cold beer from the local drive through bottle shop, and consume said beer while watching the sun set over the Indian Ocean.

The next day I try to lie in, but my body clock is set for 6am, so I rise and watch the sun paint the sky orange and yellow. I do eventually find a cafe and linger over coffee and maps and while way the morning. In the afternoon I find a swimming pool and do some laps to get the muscles working, as riding the bike is tiring , but it's not exercise and I miss movement.

Sunday I out of camp by 7am to make the most of the cool air and I head to the town of Kalbarri where I take in the surf break while having a coffee , before riding to the NP of the same name. However once there I'm informed the access road it closed, or at least not open to normal traffic and I can only go on a tour, well bollocks to that. I head off on the hwy with Carnavon set in the GPS. 

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...............?