Dope Cafe across the road from the Hotel - daily lunch spot

Zolo has been hard at work scouting the route across Mongolia with their Russian van.  The locals have assured him that the rivers will be possible to walk across in summer

Great satisfaction in cutting this big island into two equal parts. Leaving Boulia 15 days ago would also be the last full rest day of the ride. Thirteen hundred kilometres in fifteen days. If I look at each of those days - they all were enjoyable rides. The fitness from two months pushing head wind allowed good averages speeds without burning reserves. My sleep dropped from 12 to 10 hours another sign that I was working within the limits of fuel, sleep and fitness. There is real pleasure in reaching this level of cruise mode.


The last few days have been spent devising a rating system for waves from passing vehicles:

1. The unseen wave behind dark tinted windscreen. Dumb (-5 points)
2. The finger barely raised off the steering wheel. Lazy only worth a brief nod back (0.5 points)
3. Whole hand raised off the steering wheel. A little more enthusiastic (2 points)
4. Vigorous hand wave. Better (5 points)
5. Hand out the window waving. (10 points)
6. Lights flashing and/or friendly toot in advance of 4 or 5 above (20 points)
7. Whole family waving out every window (50 points)
8. Car stops to let dust settle everyone gets out for selfie (Warburton Community special 100 points)

So glad I took the half day at Middleton Hotel. Meeting good people and relaxing with a bit of fun. Swiss couple Urs and Heidi crossed paths three times over the next week. Once with the vital supply of pomegranate juice as the temperatures soared. Perfect timing. There were a couple of bush camps between Boulia and Winton, and a cattle bore camp on the way to Longreach. Spent the night with noisy kangaroo drinkers. Clouds of other insects joined the flies at meal time and my coffee was enriched with more than a few black bodies.


Longreach was a town of odd angled streets which fooled my compass a few times. Odd circles to the supermarket. Thanks to motorcyclist David for his generous shout of my usual huge breakfast. Avocado appeared for the first time among the bacon eggs and more unhealthy stuff. Barcaldine started a trend of closed pubs, perhaps three in a row was too many for even Queensland locals. Another thanks to Helen at the caravan park for donating the tent site. Another cancer survivor.


Jerico reversed the trend of high-thirty temperatures, plunging to a chilly five degrees overnight. Hands fumbling to light the cooker in the chilling wind. The road towards Alpha started the climb into the Great Australian Divide and Central Highlands. The Drummond Range changed dramatically from the horizon-less flats to some grunty climbs and corners less than ten kilometres apart. Alpha pub continued the trend of closed pubs, leaving the little town totally dry.


Bogantunga was the only place with water after Alpha. Couldn’t raise the keeper of the museum to resolve the mystery of the strange name. The one train of the day flashed past just before dark. Hints of Outback express luxury noted through the windows.


Emerald came as a surprise, suddenly no longer outback town territory as the Big Mac signs announced a slightly disappointing sameness. Dingo Roadhouse followed a hundred and thirty km down the road, back to outback basics but surprisingly good food. Another classic outback pub at Westward was a fitting last night on the road. Rough but everything I needed to cook breakfast on the veranda - see the sunrise relax for the short stint into Rockhampton.


A final thanks to all supporters. Those who contributed to the cancer cause, and those who pushed my dots along the hard stretches.
e to edit.

Lily dale Valley

Line dancers through the wringer Middleton

Middleton Hotel Bar

Wool wagon Ifracombe

Flatlands coming into Longreach

First boab tree

First time I noticed Queensland cactus

Happy corner Capricorn Highway

Used car lot Capricorn Highway 

Great Roadhouse food at Dingo

Westwood “donga” final night on the road

Heading into Rockhampton

Where else on the globe can you ride 11 hard days and not encounter a town in between? Not many places I suspect.


Leaving Alice Springs required a bit of adjustment to the riding routine and back to the bush camp stops. The problem with the Plenty Highway was more one of food supply than water. Water supply I had prearranged with the three main cattle stations along the route, Jervois, Tobermorey and Glenormiston. Food I had stocked up in Alice with a hope the small shop at Tobermorey could tide me over for the last few days to Boulia.


Leaving Gem Resort 140km from Alice launched me onto the proper Plenty after a relatively tame few 70km days on sealed roads. I was reminded that this was unpredictable country demanding respect. The sites for bush camping were smouldering from bush fire sweeping ahead of me. I had no choice but to continue onto Atitjere a small indigenous community under the Hart Ranges. The community store provided a quick stock up of water, and I enjoyed some conversations with the locals. However the sky was signalling the next change with gale winds and heavy rain. Advice from the district council was that rain would make the road impassible for up to three days.


My tent was lashed to the picnic tables in the rest area. The wind made it impossible to light my gas cooker. The power generator engineer, a young Indian on his first week of remote posting came to the rescue. No one had told him that there was a store in the community so he spotted the chance to offload some of his six month supply of tinned food. He arrived with an impossible load of tins and a hot jug with coffee. The worst night was lightened further when a small bird appeared between my arms and the coffee cup soaking up the warmth of the cup.


Dinner consisted of a tin of beans accompanied superbly with a tin of cold peas. The night passed with the tent mostly airborne around me apart from when the rain became heavy enough to counteract the upward force. When morning appeared several years later I poked my head out to a clear sky but the wind still howled and continued to do so directly in my face for the next ten days.


I made the decision to ignore the advice and head out, I figured the wind would quickly dry any damp spots remaining. All was going fine until the diversion for road works consisted of a track cut through the raw sand, now black gluey mud. Then along came Justin, a grader driver from Port Hedland. He stopped his grader and we chatted for fifteen minutes or so, then he cut me a fresh hard path right through the fifteen kilometres of diversion. Cycling rough stuff is easy with your own personal grader. The only failure was the lack of fuel from the tins of beans which were well burnt out by the end of nine hours.


Next day saved me with a short ride to Jervois Station a chance to clean up and fix a few bike bits. The ride continued on the corrugations and head wind restricting progress to ten kph. Traffic was limited to four or five cars a day so it was great to stop for a Coke offered by a South African couple from Toowoomba. A few hard days riding brought me to Tobermorey Station. Well set up for passing campers, a shop with cold drinks and icecream but very little cyclist friendly supply top ups. Vietnamese instant noodles and two frozen pies for dinner.


From Tobermorey I had another 250 km only broken by the Queensland Border and by Glenormiston Station, where I had previously arranged for water supply. Thanks to Nicky the Station manageress, and to Hugh the young Station hand and the young cowgirl kitchen hand for a few treats. But the station itself turned out to be a hidden oasis, with a long lake and manicured grass lawns in a stunning setting. It was hard to drag myself away.


I had learnt that the headwind only reached full force just after 8am so I shifted my wake up schedule to a dark 5am, managed a couple of hours of wind free riding.


Finally today the headwind relented and the seven and a half hours effort took me 110 kms all the way to Boulia, first town across the Queensland border.

300 metres of climbing out of Alice

Past the Tropic of Capricorn 

A long way ahead across the Plenty

Desert special thorn bombs - one morning I counted 10 thorn holes in the rear tyre. Thanks to Stans Sealant the little plastic balls block the holes and it is ride on

Harts Range under which the Atitjere community nestles

Atitjere Community art

Morning Ghost Gum

Busy termites

Not so busy road workers

Lean grazing

Why not drive your Juicy rental across the Plenty

Tobermorey icecream pit stop

Preparing for border inspection

The Royal Flying Doctor Service is on call

Lizard camouflage 

Every Camp produced a beautiful sunset and sunrise

The unexpected oasis of Glenormiston Station (what desert?)

My lunch view

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

A minor 400 km diversion to Northam gave me a chance to complete my COVID vaccination. Cheated for a section on the way back with a van ride to Merredin. Escaped a day of pouring rain in the process. A quick pedal connected the dots back at Bruce Rock.

My Thai host Au at Bruce Rock roadhouse started my day with a peaceful morning chat laced with a touch of Buddhist philosophy. The quote that stuck was along the lines of “you start each day with the past behind you, unchangeable not to be carried forward as a burden”. In effect a fresh life starting from today. Fittingly the day started in sunshine, down to a single layer for the first time on the journey.

I headed to back roads getting onto some dirt. Great to be on the road with no fixed destination in mind. Ride until there is just enough light left to put up the tent. The second day brought me out onto the Great Eastern Highway for a short haul to Southern Cross. I spotted a service track for the huge Kalgoorlie water pipe parallel to the Highway. Grateful not to have to verge dodge the road trains on the highway.

The Palace Hotel was a memory from a trip with Barb in 2014. Huge classic verandas and arches - expecting horses to be hitched along the rails. Serious calculations happened over a beer in the pub. What was my my water consumption over 3 days. Foolishly I assumed I would be able to complete the 380 kms of my waterless route trial in three days rather the more sensible 4 days I had planned.

I headed off with the 15 kgs extra load my calculations had decided. I thought the load was heavy before, this required some grunt. Day one added 12 extra kms trying to avoid too much west-wind pointing roads. I got chased by a local farmer on his quad bike. “Are you lost? Do you realise there is nothing much out there beyond Bullfinch”. I managed to convince him I was semi sane and carried on with him shaking his head.

The 100 rough kilometres on day one convinced me my 3 days estimate was impossible. On the second day I struck mud bogs right across the road. Just mud I thought. No, this is Australian red gritty clay mud. Within a few metres every Orafice on the bike was clogged with great balls of red. Within minutes what started as sloppy mud turned to mud bricks, solid immovable chunks of bike-stopping glug. I knew then riding would be impossible if real rain hit. Of course that night it did. I lay in my tent doing water calculations as the rain pelted and wind howled.
Next morning thankfully just the wind was left. By the time I had packed up the muddy slush had already dried to a rideable surface.

Then I reached the top corner, the road turned eastward and the wind was finally at my back. I had spotted Hospital Rocks as a possible water source but it proved even better. A mini Wave Rock minus the tourists. Scenic peace and enough water even to lash out and rinse my tooth brush. Australia has this habit of hiding special places to compensate the long hard kilometres in between.
Reaching civilisation at Menzies I discovered it consisted of a pub and a caravan park. The pub was closed for renovations but held a small store of supplies and at least takeaway beer.

Onto Leonora yesterday. What proved to be a dangerously late start from Menzies left me finishing riding in the dark. Last time. Despite my large flashing light it was no place to be with road trains on home straight.
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White House pub was like the Wild West including delightful scantily clad bar maid. Friendly welcoming, cheap, good food, and a bed. What more could I ask? Well I got great generosity with my entire rest stay free. Thanks so much White House.
This is the last turnoff point to head east out of WA - just preparing my risk management plan for the permit to pass through the remote communities of the Great Central Road. Glad to find the authorities have common sense in their expectations of a slow slow cyclist and have extended the 3 day limit on the permit.here to edit.

Palace Hotel Southern Cross - an icon revisited

The turning point to ride with the wind - Bullfinch Evanston Road

My Private version of Wave Rock. Hospital Rock first water for 280km

The route north past Bullfinch

Breakfast cafe Hospital Rock

Water!!!

Menzies CBD. Pub and shop. Pub closed

Although it has taken over a thousand kilometres- finally body and mind are in sync. The ride is no longer a minute by minute check of the distance travelled. The thousand tweaks of load and balance have been made. Gear has been off loaded ahead to Alice Springs. As a friend from my Africa ride advised “bike touring requires head up enjoying the now”. The colourful flash of flocks of parakeets above or the gnarled old gum to the left - let the kilometres flow unnoticed.

From Albany the waves of South West storm fronts turned the Mundabiddi trail into a slow sludgy slog. Timetable dictated a change of plan. A quick race north to beat the storm fronts sweeping in. Through Mount Barker and the Stirling Range. Shelter for a night in the Borden travellers park bus shelter. Regroup at Lake Grace to get a replacement camera sent ahead (lost in a crash on the Munda Biddi trail). It also allowed booking a second Pfizer shot in the WA health system (with a minor 350km diversion back west).

Places like Pingarup and Kondinin provided shire-owned caravan parks all empty and ideal stops for a wet cyclist. Kulin provided quirky steel sculptures along the Tin Horse Highway. Great hospitality at Bruce Rock truck stop with the Arnold’s - Mavericks of the community but with peace of Thai buddism allowing the lady owner to balance her husbands “take no prisoners” approach to life.

The turn westward took the wind head on into the quaint historic town of York and today Northam - my vaccination site for Tuesday.

Tin Horse Highway sculptures

Bruce Rock Roadhouse. Peaceful Thai and full on Aussie hospitality

A day on slushy red dirt and the bike needed warm shelter. What mud?

Cycling companion leaves me at Shackleton store.

Local Shackleton artwork

Quairading was closest so I headed that way

Rare Aussie eucalypts against the next rain wave (OK not so rare)

On the road to Northam

Classic Aussie farmhouse

Safely in Albany despite the waves of COVID hitting Australia. Luck or foresight landed me in Albany - outside the Perth lockdown area. A moment of heart in mouth approaching the Police checkpoint on the outskirts of Perth - but saved by my G2G pass (one of the documents required for WA travel).

Tonight I am hoping for the Perth lockdown to be dropped as my planned path on the Mundabiddi Trail takes me back into the lockdown area. Today my bags were sent to friends at the end-point in Coffs Harbour - so its bike or nothing.

Albany holds a unique place in Anzac history as the fleet departure point for the WWI fleet. A huge convoy combining ships both from New Zealand and Australia.

Middleton Beach Albany and the great Australian south coast

The southern terminus of the Munda Biddi trail - my route back north towards Perth (COVID lockdowns permitting)

1062 kilometres of epic cyclic trail

Albany as well as being the gateway to the beautiful South-West coast - manages to retain some historic character in the town centre

The first 2000 kilometres started at Ships Cove on the Queen Charlotte Track. First bush camp at School House Bay started a trend with camp resident wekas. Wekas Interested in grabbing anything from my load for nesting material. The track proved hard work with fully loaded trailer, not helped by a number of fallen trees which required attention from my little pruning saw. Review day at Havelock saw 7 kgs of gear mailed home.

Next was the Maungatapu Track into the back of Nelson. A long hard climb with an hour of trailer pushing. Last little steep pitch pulled a Achilles’ tendon with slight tear. Hobbled into the emergency clinic in Nelson for an assessment. Takaka Hill Rameka track was abandoned due to the injury but a wet Misty climb over the hill was a solid workout.

From Takaka I explorer the far north west around Whanganui Inlet down to the Anatori River. Really beautiful scenery and bush followed by rugged wild surf on the West Coast. With heavy rain in the hills both the Anatori and Big Rivers had too much flow to cross so the ride down to Kahurangi Lighthouse was foiled.

Had some good company in Browns Hut at the start of the Heaphy and kept in touch with a few groups over the next couple of days. The wet conditions did not dampen the experience too much, but again the trailer load required constant attention to keep on track. Rode from Saxon Hut straight out to Karamea next day. Great meal in the pub and a long conversation with the 30 year publican, looking to sell and spent more time in Westport with grandchildren.

Next day over the Karamea Bluff to Seddonville to the camp and meal at the blue pub. A loop back through Westport to Murchison where I was to meet Barb. Experience with the trailer suggested the Old Ghost Road would be a too much of a push - so Barb would ferry the trailer back around to Seddonville. Relatively easy four hours climb to Ghost Lake Hut, but the next day was a very hard nine hours and sixty km out to Seddonville. Anniversary dinner of excellent whitebait in the blue pub.

From Seddonville (round two) the path headed south to Punakaiki. Great and quirky Beach Backpackers. Next was Blackball (the “Normal” start to the Old Ghost Road). The plan was to ditch some load and test my leg injured on the Old Ghost Road with a climb to Ces Clark Hut. Base in Blackall was the Formerly Hilton Hotel (famous for the ridiculous legal battle with the international Hilton hotel chain over naming rights). Blackball Hotel provided a very high quality menu- including the lamb salad which made my evening. 

I rode for a few kilometres up the track before deciding that the risk of a crash on my injured leg was too great. I simply didn’t have the leg power for necessary control on a grade four track.
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