Half way

Halfway


The excitement of reaching the halfway point kicked in the night before. From 40 kilometres away I caught the first glimpse of Kata Tjuta (The Olgas) in the orange light of late afternoon. My bush camp was a perfect dune hollow with the three peaks visible from the rim. Yesterday’s ride brought me right into their shadow, a special experience. Even better the road had turned to tarmac early, no seven hour dirt slog and for the first time since Leonora, no head wind, the ultimate celebration bonus. The experience was repeated with the first view of Uluru soon after, again from 40 kilometres out. Couldn’t quite believe all that hard ground of the Outback Way was behind me.

But a bit of a catch-up since the last blog....

1200 kilometres since Leonora. A touch of emotion lingered from the generosity of Robbie, Sue and Marie from White House Hotel as the trailer gave its first ominous wobble on the road towards Laverton. Took a bush camp to break the distance with a short ride into Laverton next day. This was the drop off point for the 300km waterless stretch to Tjukayirla Roadhouse. Water and supplies were the focus at the Laverton supermarket. I tried not to be distracted by the dire warnings of the bitter Vietnam vet I kept meeting in the town.

The ride out of town with 15kgs of water on top of the normal load felt distinctly squelchy on the trailer pivot. Tarmac gave way to a long stretch of roadworks with lots of lumps. Two indigenous lolly pop ladies at the end of the works took some convincing that I almost knew what I was taking on. “Some tourists have no idea how big the country is” grumbled one.

I was barely out of sight when the trailer lurched with a crumbling motion. I thought the tow bar had simply become detached until I saw the torn tubing ripped apart from the pivot. “Journey over” was the first thought. I had barely unloaded the trailer when outback support kicked in. The guy in the ute had a huge black beard. No, he was not headed to Laverton, he had a job a few hundred kilometres west. Without pausing, he picked up the trailer panniers, I will drop them at the cafe. I followed him back into town and met him on the way back out. My “thank you” didn’t seem enough.

The cafe doubled as the visitor centre and the lady had already found a list of people and phone numbers with possible repair skills. The guy at Desert Sands Transport sounded doubtful “Bring it in I will have a look”. When I arrived he shook his head “Darcy may be able to do something”. Darcy was young versatile and highly skilled with the welder. He simply took over, realigned the joints welded them. I suggested the flimsy original join could do with a reinforcement plate. “I don’t know if I have anything to use”. However within a few minutes a perfectly fitting reinforcement plate had been shaped and added. “Looks a bit rough” he said as he finished and wandered off to find a spray can of black paint. “How much?” I asked. “Nothing”. Once again I was stunned by the generosity, “thank you” was simply inadequate.

Back on the road the rigidity of the new join made the bike handle so much better, perhaps the break was a blessing in disguise.

On the road I started meeting many of the community folk of Warburton, travelling to or from. Most stopped and asked if I needed anything, all slowed to reduce the dust hitting me, there were several “selfie” requests. Heading into the first stop at Tjukayirla Roadhouse I was offered a chance to try kangaroo tail and “we will show you the proper way to cook it”. It seemed a good time to break from the quinoa and pasta diet so I pushed on into darkness. My “absolute” rule of never riding in the dark broken again. The road house was not only closed it was locked up like Fort Knox, no way into the campground. I found my way with a bit of saltbush Braille to what seemed like a reasonable camp site back down the road.

Next morning was brightened by Oliver one of the travellers camped across the road. He pointed out the water hole near my camp, inundated with thirsty birds. However the kangaroo tail had been all eaten. A relief was, despite the extra nights camp I had arrived with a safe reserve of water.

On the road up to Warburton I had always managed to find a riding line which allowed some momentum. In the sand after Warakurna only the camel tracks saved me from wheels buried deep sand. They obviously had picked up a few tips on the best path across sand and their 3 metre height giving an advantage over me in spotting what lay ahead. A few random stretches of tarmac got my hopes up briefly. 

Docker River was the first community I had to ride right into. Shortage of water and supplies required a visit to the store. I was greeted warmly with all the local kids on their bikes and scooters gathering around as I rode. It was mid afternoon by the time I had loaded water and supplies, temperature in the 30s. A dumb decision but I decided to push on. The push was more of a sand grunt and crawl. I gave up after 12 kms, throat swollen with dehydration despite the two litres of juice I had guzzled at the store.

From Docker River it was largely sand, deep wheel sucking and no bike lines across the entire sand pit that pretended to be a road. Somehow corrugations managed to hold their shape in the shifting piles adding a continuous jarring jolt to the fun. I was sprawled in the sand trying to haul the heavy load upright for the hundredth time when a very concerned lady pulled alongside. “Are you sure you are alright?”. Strangely I was. I had finally got into an 11kph rhythm that made progress, all I had to do is drop a few gears and keep rotating. The mental focus was key, I knew it wasn,t going to be easy so I had no right to complain that it was hard. Get to 80 kilometres for the day so my water would last the distance and find the perfect bush camp. Simple.

Hiace cafe poor service limited menu

Nissan cafe ditto. I counted 15 roadside wrecks in 20 kms

My guides to the best path through sand

Lasseters Cave water stop. Lasseter spent 25 days here (In the cave below) after his camels bolted with his supplies. Then he packed up his 1.7 litres of water and tried to walk out. A fatal decision. 

The perfect bush camp - again

My sand dune hollow campsite wildflower

Ready to ride to Uluru

Into the shadow of Kata Tjuta

And Uluru my halfway point marker