ODO 111k
Well hello there.
I am writing, sadly, from the end of the road. I'm back in Sydney, and the journey therefore, is over.
It's good to be home!
The last leg of the journey was as excellently inspiring as any other, and went surprisingly according to plan. I got from Perth to Sydney in five days, covering 4,900 km, including a 350km 'rest day' in Adelaide.
I did change the plans a little along the way, though. I ended up going through fabulous Esperance on the WA south coust, and all the way around the Eyre Peninsula in SA. I got to Adelaide and decided going to Melbourne first was an unnecessary pain in the arse, coming straight back here to recuperate. The day-by-day showed 1005km - 1180km - 1150km - 350km - 1236km - That last one a new record, my longest day in the saddle! It's good to know, though, that if I'd needed to I could have arisen an hour earlier each day, and would have gotten maybe an extra half hour if I was travelling East to West. The real surprise was that after three odd months of never travelling more than 5-600km in a day, I got to the end of my cross-country jaunt and wanted to keep going! I got home and just couldn't sleep - I haven't felt tired, in fact, since shortly after arriving in Perth. So the body's travelling well.
Next time I ride to WA I think I'll do it in three days, just to prove it's possible.
Just because I travelled it without delay, doesn't mean I didn't enjoy the ride. In fact, the leg reminded me what riding has always been about - being on the road. I've been far too much of a traveller - even often a tourist - on this trip. So concerned about where I'm going to stop, what I'm going to do, and what I can't miss... sure I did a lot of stuff, but next time round I think I'll relax and spend more quality time just coursing with the ebb of the European veins that cross the land.
So many stretches along this last leg are exceptional, just fantastic, totally negating any need to stop to search out attractions. Of course it helps that there isn't anything to stop for, nothing beyond the endless stretches of desert, scrub and coastline, for kilometre after kilometre. 120km/h is standing still when you're on a 147km straight.
The endlessness doesn't imply any lack of variation, however. The only invariant on any stretch is the road - the long, black ribbon, built to specification, slapped onto the land to make it possible to skoot through without regard, the fly through and think just because the road doesn't change, because so few signs of habitation mark the scenery, that the world doesn't either. To make it possible to see more bikes on trailers than actually with riders! As someone who was there, it's incomprehensible why so many people would deprive themselves of the opportunity to cross the Nullarbor. And the Eyre Peninsula! So much to see.
So if you get the chance, don't waste it!
So now I'm here, I'm trying to catch up with the world, trying to enjoy a last little stretch at one home before I move on to the new one. Looking forward to Melbourne very much, looking forward to starting work with VAGO, looking forward to starting something without knowing where it will end. It's a different journey when you don't know that you'll be returning to the beginning again.
Now that I'm back on a computer I can upload photos etc. once again - when I finally track down my USB cable. I admittedly haven't gone to town since my last upload, many weeks ago, but there will be a few shots there for sure.
All that's left now are a few loose ends. I'm looking to finish with this journey, but it's one of those things that you'll never leave behind.
Thanks for sticking with it!
--------
@JohnSBaxter
2009-traveldiary.blogspot.com
2009-motorcyclist.blogspot.com
Showing posts with label WA. Show all posts
Showing posts with label WA. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Friday, January 1, 2010
New year, new post - old blog
ODO 106k+
Well!
It's been a real bugger not having my laptop to spill my thoughts into - they've been festering and decaying instead in the mess between my ears. I have a lot that I could say but little time to organise it all.
The last month has been great. The obvious highlight has been the company I've kept. I'm still blagging Kenneth and Justine's sofa, and its only their fine company and unquestioning hospitality that keeps me from feeling guilty about it. I've also had the great luck of discovering how awesome my family is, having spent a few days earlier in the month with my uncle down south, then getting lucky and working my way into a long Christmas weekend with them as well. How good is that!? Thoroughly enjoyed my time, and it's been great getting to know the relos, if only briefly. I'm already looking forward to when I can return - whenever that might be.
It won't just be the family I'll be returning for, though. I've left myself a good stretch of the WA south coast still undiscovered, and if my time on it so far is anything to go by it's probably some of the best country around. I got down to Albany (founded a few years before Perth), and was absolutely gobsmacked. Dead-set no competition the most beautiful city of Oz - there are some fantastic places out there, but nothing graced with a genuine CBD (albeit a small one) comes close. It's fantastic! The coast and hills to the West of Albany are barely less charming, and it's not until you get to the more populated and touristed Margaret River and on up the West Coast that you find yourself able to pick your chin up off your tank and recover from a numbing sense of travelling bliss. It's just great down south, and with world-famous beaches (while cold), wineries, a couple of startling mountain ranges, gorgeous heath and towering Karri and Marri trees... summer sunshine but alpine breezes - it's really somewhere you could spend a lot of time exploring. But alas! - that will have to wait for sometime in the future.
I have finally gotten myself sorted to return. My bike is legal (and even ADR compliant!), with it's shiny new 'gull wing' WA plates, everything is packed and ready to go - only my extended New Years' Day recovery prevented me from leaving this afternoon. The registration story is a long one - the whole experience was impossibly arduous, mind-numbing and irritating nearly to the point of defeat. I would never have thought that the hardest part of a round-Oz trip would be a relatively straightforward administrative act. Hardest by far. BY FAR. And perhaps the most irritating part is the fact that if I'd known it was possible I could have gotten WA plates a month ago and renewed my rego then - no inspection, no drama, nothing. If only!
With that behind me I'm now looking forward to 2010. Happy New Year! And yes, looking at the title of this page I'll be signing off this blog soon enough, if all too soon. It's sad for the journey to be coming to an end - though it means the start of something else entirely, and certainly nothing any less exciting. I have in my inbox my invitation for the introductory morning tea for my new job with the Victorian Auditor General's. February 1st - just around the corner!
The closeness of the date means a pretty swift return to Sydney from here on. Esperance is out (WA South Coast), sadly, and I'll be hooning across the Nullarbor without much delay. SA will be a brief roll off the throttle, and I'm planning on swinging by Melbourne to look at rooms to rent, before heading back to Sydney to gather myself before moving down for good. For good!
I'll post you an update when the dust has settled to let you know how the final leg went. I'll also be getting around, sometime, to sorting out this year's 'Christmas present' - all the money from all the presents I didn't want to buy for everyone going to charity. My blogging started last year with a toy run post (on 2009-motorcyclist, though), and it'll be fitting to finish it off with this year's edition. So you do have a few updates to look forward to!
And yes, if I can think of a topic I'll be firing up a blog for next year. I've enjoyed having this around, though I'M GETTING FAR TOO FEW COMMENTS *cough*. It's been good people telling me they've read parts of it, though - thank you for your feedback, and for sticking with my rambling lines!
All the best with the new year you have laid out before you - may you make of it what you wish, and may the Gods of luck smile kindly on your efforts.
Cheerio!
--------
@JohnSBaxter
2009-traveldiary.blogspot.com
2009-motorcyclist.blogspot.com
Well!
It's been a real bugger not having my laptop to spill my thoughts into - they've been festering and decaying instead in the mess between my ears. I have a lot that I could say but little time to organise it all.
The last month has been great. The obvious highlight has been the company I've kept. I'm still blagging Kenneth and Justine's sofa, and its only their fine company and unquestioning hospitality that keeps me from feeling guilty about it. I've also had the great luck of discovering how awesome my family is, having spent a few days earlier in the month with my uncle down south, then getting lucky and working my way into a long Christmas weekend with them as well. How good is that!? Thoroughly enjoyed my time, and it's been great getting to know the relos, if only briefly. I'm already looking forward to when I can return - whenever that might be.
It won't just be the family I'll be returning for, though. I've left myself a good stretch of the WA south coast still undiscovered, and if my time on it so far is anything to go by it's probably some of the best country around. I got down to Albany (founded a few years before Perth), and was absolutely gobsmacked. Dead-set no competition the most beautiful city of Oz - there are some fantastic places out there, but nothing graced with a genuine CBD (albeit a small one) comes close. It's fantastic! The coast and hills to the West of Albany are barely less charming, and it's not until you get to the more populated and touristed Margaret River and on up the West Coast that you find yourself able to pick your chin up off your tank and recover from a numbing sense of travelling bliss. It's just great down south, and with world-famous beaches (while cold), wineries, a couple of startling mountain ranges, gorgeous heath and towering Karri and Marri trees... summer sunshine but alpine breezes - it's really somewhere you could spend a lot of time exploring. But alas! - that will have to wait for sometime in the future.
I have finally gotten myself sorted to return. My bike is legal (and even ADR compliant!), with it's shiny new 'gull wing' WA plates, everything is packed and ready to go - only my extended New Years' Day recovery prevented me from leaving this afternoon. The registration story is a long one - the whole experience was impossibly arduous, mind-numbing and irritating nearly to the point of defeat. I would never have thought that the hardest part of a round-Oz trip would be a relatively straightforward administrative act. Hardest by far. BY FAR. And perhaps the most irritating part is the fact that if I'd known it was possible I could have gotten WA plates a month ago and renewed my rego then - no inspection, no drama, nothing. If only!
With that behind me I'm now looking forward to 2010. Happy New Year! And yes, looking at the title of this page I'll be signing off this blog soon enough, if all too soon. It's sad for the journey to be coming to an end - though it means the start of something else entirely, and certainly nothing any less exciting. I have in my inbox my invitation for the introductory morning tea for my new job with the Victorian Auditor General's. February 1st - just around the corner!
The closeness of the date means a pretty swift return to Sydney from here on. Esperance is out (WA South Coast), sadly, and I'll be hooning across the Nullarbor without much delay. SA will be a brief roll off the throttle, and I'm planning on swinging by Melbourne to look at rooms to rent, before heading back to Sydney to gather myself before moving down for good. For good!
I'll post you an update when the dust has settled to let you know how the final leg went. I'll also be getting around, sometime, to sorting out this year's 'Christmas present' - all the money from all the presents I didn't want to buy for everyone going to charity. My blogging started last year with a toy run post (on 2009-motorcyclist, though), and it'll be fitting to finish it off with this year's edition. So you do have a few updates to look forward to!
And yes, if I can think of a topic I'll be firing up a blog for next year. I've enjoyed having this around, though I'M GETTING FAR TOO FEW COMMENTS *cough*. It's been good people telling me they've read parts of it, though - thank you for your feedback, and for sticking with my rambling lines!
All the best with the new year you have laid out before you - may you make of it what you wish, and may the Gods of luck smile kindly on your efforts.
Cheerio!
--------
@JohnSBaxter
2009-traveldiary.blogspot.com
2009-motorcyclist.blogspot.com
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Many steps forward, but one step back
ODO 103k
Things are getting tougher here in the blogosphere. For a while I haven't really had anything compelling to write - I have been a bit too quiet, haven't I? But just recently I've hit a much more considerable pothole: dead laptop. My little computer has been replaced with a 2.5' portable hard drive (pulled out of said computer), and the opportunity to sit down to write blog articles is going to come around much less often.
I have just recovered a mobile (after about a month without), so I will try to get back into the habit of posting to Twitter - hopefully it will still work with the new hardware.
In processionary news, I've moved a few kms further down the road towards tomorrow. The trip from Geraldton to Perth involved a few little detours towards the beach - pleasant enough. I hit Perth, hit up the post office for my mobile battery, and virtually just as promptly left. After a short jaunt I was back in Perth the next day, but the weather was again (uncharacteristically) damp and soggy. Bugger it, I decided, I'll be much better off in Kalgoorlie!
As it turns out, the damp was not just coastal - though after a brief deluge in the Perth Hills I somehow managed to ride into storms for two days without actually getting wet. Travelling was good - popping along through a variety of agripastoral little towns, eventually finding myself in the goldfields heading north. Despite the chill, the clouds made for great viewing - surpassed however by the beautiful glades of eucalyptus. The salmon gums are famous - rightly so - but are by no means the only colourfully twisted, smooth, shagged or ragged growths on the goldfields.
I was a little unfortunate to hit a nice sharp little rock, and develop a little lack of curvature in my front rim. I got it back to the servo to pump up the tyre, and then back to Kalgoorlie which would make the nearest mechanic. The wheel held up without issue, though, so Perth I decided would be a better place to stop. Structually, the wheel is fine - and holds air with no complaints once properly pumped.
So Perth I have been for a few days now - catching up with old mates, and enjoying the generous hospitality of one I've not seen for a good couple of years. The bike is cleaner, I am too, and Perth is done with me for another few weeks. Mid-December I'm back in town to catch the cricket (which hopefully lasts longer than the three-day test which finished yesterday), and after that I'm freewaying it back to Sydney to organise life in the new year. The next few weeks will see me catching up with relatives, and exploring the SW corner of WA - the forests, craggy coast and beaches, the dryandra and the farmlands. It will be a good few weeks but you might have to live without much news of it.
Until sometime in the future, all the best with your December, enjoy the rest of 2009.
--------
@JohnSBaxter
2009-traveldiary.blogspot.com
2009-motorcyclist.blogspot.com
Things are getting tougher here in the blogosphere. For a while I haven't really had anything compelling to write - I have been a bit too quiet, haven't I? But just recently I've hit a much more considerable pothole: dead laptop. My little computer has been replaced with a 2.5' portable hard drive (pulled out of said computer), and the opportunity to sit down to write blog articles is going to come around much less often.
I have just recovered a mobile (after about a month without), so I will try to get back into the habit of posting to Twitter - hopefully it will still work with the new hardware.
In processionary news, I've moved a few kms further down the road towards tomorrow. The trip from Geraldton to Perth involved a few little detours towards the beach - pleasant enough. I hit Perth, hit up the post office for my mobile battery, and virtually just as promptly left. After a short jaunt I was back in Perth the next day, but the weather was again (uncharacteristically) damp and soggy. Bugger it, I decided, I'll be much better off in Kalgoorlie!
As it turns out, the damp was not just coastal - though after a brief deluge in the Perth Hills I somehow managed to ride into storms for two days without actually getting wet. Travelling was good - popping along through a variety of agripastoral little towns, eventually finding myself in the goldfields heading north. Despite the chill, the clouds made for great viewing - surpassed however by the beautiful glades of eucalyptus. The salmon gums are famous - rightly so - but are by no means the only colourfully twisted, smooth, shagged or ragged growths on the goldfields.
I was a little unfortunate to hit a nice sharp little rock, and develop a little lack of curvature in my front rim. I got it back to the servo to pump up the tyre, and then back to Kalgoorlie which would make the nearest mechanic. The wheel held up without issue, though, so Perth I decided would be a better place to stop. Structually, the wheel is fine - and holds air with no complaints once properly pumped.
So Perth I have been for a few days now - catching up with old mates, and enjoying the generous hospitality of one I've not seen for a good couple of years. The bike is cleaner, I am too, and Perth is done with me for another few weeks. Mid-December I'm back in town to catch the cricket (which hopefully lasts longer than the three-day test which finished yesterday), and after that I'm freewaying it back to Sydney to organise life in the new year. The next few weeks will see me catching up with relatives, and exploring the SW corner of WA - the forests, craggy coast and beaches, the dryandra and the farmlands. It will be a good few weeks but you might have to live without much news of it.
Until sometime in the future, all the best with your December, enjoy the rest of 2009.
--------
@JohnSBaxter
2009-traveldiary.blogspot.com
2009-motorcyclist.blogspot.com
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Long Journey Down a Short Road
ODO 100 000! Woo hoo!
Last writing was in Carnarvon, and in the scheme of things I'm just down the road. To get here, though, required an arduous journey, some serious problem solving and a return to 'civilisation' as I know it.
I'm in Geraldton at the moment, and it feels like I've popped back into civilisatiom from an extended soujourn in the wilderness. It's not the town itself as much as the area. My road atlas has stopped showing bowser symbols to indicate where fuel is available. Roads go up, over and around hills (yes, hills!), not just through them or past them. I haven't found any twisty roads yet, but I can tell they're here somewhere. I got to Northampton 50km to the north and realised I hadn't been in anything which felt like a 'country town' since leaving the East Coast. The place was hauntingly familiar. And the roads network all over the place - not just along straight lines built to get roadtrains between mines or cattle stations. So I can go touring again
Getting here involved leaving Carnarvon - easy enough, except my battery was dead. I knew why - I'd left the lap top on to charge too long. It was a hard thing to push start, and when I got there, I discovered a much bigger problem. The faint fuel aroma I'd been sensing wasn't my imagination, or fuel soacked into the paint of the tank. That aroma, moreover, had developed into a fountain of flammable liquid pouring out of gashes in my fuel hoses.
As it turns out then, Plan A (camp out back of town) fell through, in favour of Plan B (hostel). Carnarvon Backpackers - you can see what you mean when the visinfo centre says they "can't recommend it." But I have to say I liked the place. Not instantly, but it grew on me. It was small, and it really was like a family there - albeit a disgrunted and disfunctional one. More expensive than illegal camping, but it had its charms.
It also meant late Friday night a work opportunity popped up - for first thing Saturday. It meant I couldn't track down fuel hose, but bugger it - I might not get the chance to do any picking anywhere else, and it would pay for the extra time needed in town.
Just so you know, picking pumpkins with a bad back is a bad idea. Doing so without gloves is masochistic. The day wasn't actually that hard, thanks to an unexpectedly cool day (20-25! perfect!). My hands and body are still recovering, though.
The next day disappeared like a flash, due partly to residual tiredness and apathy and partly to a bit of noise polution (three snorers out of four roomates - what a ratio!). Which is probably all the better - Dani Pedrosa winning the Valencia GP didn't do my wallet any favours. A day, therefore, I'm glad to forget.
It somehow took most of Monday to pack up, prepare and fit some newly sourced fuel hoses (with a bit of re-routing ingenuity!), only to discover the 'real' problem wasn't the worst of it! The battery was dead, drop dead. Push starting failed dismally (the guy who offered to help had a burning desire to push it to the right... I was happy he offered to jump start it instead before we dropped it), and I thought the jump had done the trick. The battery might have been dead flat, but once running I was away. One little click, though... - the front brake lever turns on the brake lights, and the brake lights alone were too much for the battery.
By a long process (having discovered my multimeter was dead), I concluded the battery was cactus. The local bike shop couldn't replace it - not for two days, and at an absurd cost (dangerous goods express delivery... and of course, country pricing), but he suggested I rock up and he'd see what he could do. I think he was very optimistic in thinking the second hand battery could get me out of trouble (I didn't even know a 12V battery could be stable with such little juice!), but with my original on charge overnight there was hope yet. It charged fine, and in the end started the bike without much of an issue - that of course was the easy part. I still had at least 1 fuel stop until Geraldton. I did sit down to do what I really should have checked already (not that I had much chance), only to confirm that No, it was NOT charging properly!
So off I went, cactus battery, not charging properly - but dammit I was over Carnarvon. It was Gero or Bust.
Three kilometres down the road yet another problem raised its ugly head. The thing just wouldn't run right around cruising revs. Pulled over to check the obvious (a dodgy job meant brand new leaking fuel hoses), but no, we were dry. Just coughing and spluttering. 100m down the road though... problem solved! Perhaps.
At least, I thought to myself, the road between Carnarvon and Geraldton is straight - if there's a serious throttle problem I won't notice it (unless the bike stops running). And I sure as hell wasn't busted yet (please at least get out of Carnarvon!). So, off I went, again.
I didn't notice much, thankfully, for the 200 odd kms to the roadhouse. Neither trees, nor animals, nor flowers, nor bike issues. No news, was good news - and I was well on the way.
I did notice though, that the bike's engine breaking was reduced... and idle speed was 500rpm higher? But she was charging - like a one legged bull - and would have enough to keep going.
So what did I do? Took a detour to Denham!
Too much straight stuff here, and after all I was here to look around.
Through a stroke of genius, from Denham I managed to get a second hand regulator posted from Perth, to Geraldton. Now I really had no excuse not to take my time - it would be in tomorrow.
The next day I was still going (and still starting - just!), when I talked myself into the turnoff to Kalbarri - it was only one more stop, after all! And well worth the detour - some absolutely fantastic flowers, though past their peak, beautiful scenery, and a fabulous little seaside tourist town down by the ocean - and you know what, they actually have surf here! Big turqoise waves rolling in off the Indian Ocean and crashing onto the shore! I really can't remember when I last saw those - I think it might even be NSW.
A bit of a coastal meander (a pleasantly chilly sea breeze too!), and all of a sudden I was in Northampton, wondering how I'd gotten back to NSW without seeing the SA border. I didn't dare stop, and rolled into Geraldton not too long after that. Mail was in - and soon enough so was my new regulator, with a bit of creatively dodgy rewiring.
And you knwo what? The bike wouldn't start : )
Hell of a lot of pushing later and we had a purring engine once more - and, it seemed, one that was charging the battery as well!
May the rest be history.
--------
@JohnSBaxter
2009-traveldiary.blogspot.com
2009-motorcyclist.blogspot.com
Last writing was in Carnarvon, and in the scheme of things I'm just down the road. To get here, though, required an arduous journey, some serious problem solving and a return to 'civilisation' as I know it.
I'm in Geraldton at the moment, and it feels like I've popped back into civilisatiom from an extended soujourn in the wilderness. It's not the town itself as much as the area. My road atlas has stopped showing bowser symbols to indicate where fuel is available. Roads go up, over and around hills (yes, hills!), not just through them or past them. I haven't found any twisty roads yet, but I can tell they're here somewhere. I got to Northampton 50km to the north and realised I hadn't been in anything which felt like a 'country town' since leaving the East Coast. The place was hauntingly familiar. And the roads network all over the place - not just along straight lines built to get roadtrains between mines or cattle stations. So I can go touring again
Getting here involved leaving Carnarvon - easy enough, except my battery was dead. I knew why - I'd left the lap top on to charge too long. It was a hard thing to push start, and when I got there, I discovered a much bigger problem. The faint fuel aroma I'd been sensing wasn't my imagination, or fuel soacked into the paint of the tank. That aroma, moreover, had developed into a fountain of flammable liquid pouring out of gashes in my fuel hoses.
As it turns out then, Plan A (camp out back of town) fell through, in favour of Plan B (hostel). Carnarvon Backpackers - you can see what you mean when the visinfo centre says they "can't recommend it." But I have to say I liked the place. Not instantly, but it grew on me. It was small, and it really was like a family there - albeit a disgrunted and disfunctional one. More expensive than illegal camping, but it had its charms.
It also meant late Friday night a work opportunity popped up - for first thing Saturday. It meant I couldn't track down fuel hose, but bugger it - I might not get the chance to do any picking anywhere else, and it would pay for the extra time needed in town.
Just so you know, picking pumpkins with a bad back is a bad idea. Doing so without gloves is masochistic. The day wasn't actually that hard, thanks to an unexpectedly cool day (20-25! perfect!). My hands and body are still recovering, though.
The next day disappeared like a flash, due partly to residual tiredness and apathy and partly to a bit of noise polution (three snorers out of four roomates - what a ratio!). Which is probably all the better - Dani Pedrosa winning the Valencia GP didn't do my wallet any favours. A day, therefore, I'm glad to forget.
It somehow took most of Monday to pack up, prepare and fit some newly sourced fuel hoses (with a bit of re-routing ingenuity!), only to discover the 'real' problem wasn't the worst of it! The battery was dead, drop dead. Push starting failed dismally (the guy who offered to help had a burning desire to push it to the right... I was happy he offered to jump start it instead before we dropped it), and I thought the jump had done the trick. The battery might have been dead flat, but once running I was away. One little click, though... - the front brake lever turns on the brake lights, and the brake lights alone were too much for the battery.
By a long process (having discovered my multimeter was dead), I concluded the battery was cactus. The local bike shop couldn't replace it - not for two days, and at an absurd cost (dangerous goods express delivery... and of course, country pricing), but he suggested I rock up and he'd see what he could do. I think he was very optimistic in thinking the second hand battery could get me out of trouble (I didn't even know a 12V battery could be stable with such little juice!), but with my original on charge overnight there was hope yet. It charged fine, and in the end started the bike without much of an issue - that of course was the easy part. I still had at least 1 fuel stop until Geraldton. I did sit down to do what I really should have checked already (not that I had much chance), only to confirm that No, it was NOT charging properly!
So off I went, cactus battery, not charging properly - but dammit I was over Carnarvon. It was Gero or Bust.
Three kilometres down the road yet another problem raised its ugly head. The thing just wouldn't run right around cruising revs. Pulled over to check the obvious (a dodgy job meant brand new leaking fuel hoses), but no, we were dry. Just coughing and spluttering. 100m down the road though... problem solved! Perhaps.
At least, I thought to myself, the road between Carnarvon and Geraldton is straight - if there's a serious throttle problem I won't notice it (unless the bike stops running). And I sure as hell wasn't busted yet (please at least get out of Carnarvon!). So, off I went, again.
I didn't notice much, thankfully, for the 200 odd kms to the roadhouse. Neither trees, nor animals, nor flowers, nor bike issues. No news, was good news - and I was well on the way.
I did notice though, that the bike's engine breaking was reduced... and idle speed was 500rpm higher? But she was charging - like a one legged bull - and would have enough to keep going.
So what did I do? Took a detour to Denham!
Too much straight stuff here, and after all I was here to look around.
Through a stroke of genius, from Denham I managed to get a second hand regulator posted from Perth, to Geraldton. Now I really had no excuse not to take my time - it would be in tomorrow.
The next day I was still going (and still starting - just!), when I talked myself into the turnoff to Kalbarri - it was only one more stop, after all! And well worth the detour - some absolutely fantastic flowers, though past their peak, beautiful scenery, and a fabulous little seaside tourist town down by the ocean - and you know what, they actually have surf here! Big turqoise waves rolling in off the Indian Ocean and crashing onto the shore! I really can't remember when I last saw those - I think it might even be NSW.
A bit of a coastal meander (a pleasantly chilly sea breeze too!), and all of a sudden I was in Northampton, wondering how I'd gotten back to NSW without seeing the SA border. I didn't dare stop, and rolled into Geraldton not too long after that. Mail was in - and soon enough so was my new regulator, with a bit of creatively dodgy rewiring.
And you knwo what? The bike wouldn't start : )
Hell of a lot of pushing later and we had a purring engine once more - and, it seemed, one that was charging the battery as well!
May the rest be history.
--------
@JohnSBaxter
2009-traveldiary.blogspot.com
2009-motorcyclist.blogspot.com
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Update from Carnarvon
I just wrote the last post because I sat down to write an update of the trip and didn't really feel inspired to write about anything.
Not to say I haven't had any good times. Ningaloo/North West Cape/Exmouth was great, some really good snorkelling, some good time up the range. The range of fish there is astounding, far, far in excess of the day I spend on the Great Barrier Reef, though the coral formations of the latter were pretty good. The coral close to the coast in Ningaloo was largely basic (all in a narrow shallow water lagoon). But fish! Wherever you went!
On from there I'm in Carnarvon for the weekend. Not much to say about it really. It's an average sort of place, little town, a little bit feral but nice enough. Was thinking of looking for work and staying a while (there's a range of semi-tropical agriculture along the Gascoyne), but there isn't much work for the minute, and... well Carnarvon? One weekend's enough.
--------
@JohnSBaxter
2009-traveldiary.blogspot.com
2009-motorcyclist.blogspot.com
Not to say I haven't had any good times. Ningaloo/North West Cape/Exmouth was great, some really good snorkelling, some good time up the range. The range of fish there is astounding, far, far in excess of the day I spend on the Great Barrier Reef, though the coral formations of the latter were pretty good. The coral close to the coast in Ningaloo was largely basic (all in a narrow shallow water lagoon). But fish! Wherever you went!
On from there I'm in Carnarvon for the weekend. Not much to say about it really. It's an average sort of place, little town, a little bit feral but nice enough. Was thinking of looking for work and staying a while (there's a range of semi-tropical agriculture along the Gascoyne), but there isn't much work for the minute, and... well Carnarvon? One weekend's enough.
--------
@JohnSBaxter
2009-traveldiary.blogspot.com
2009-motorcyclist.blogspot.com
Monday, November 2, 2009
Down the Hill to the Coral Coast
ODO 98,600
As of the last entry I was on my way out of the Pilbara - the only remaining stop was Paraburdoo, which at 7am on Sunday was a quiet town indeed.
So onto the road down from the hills it was - and no less stunning a trip than the days before it. The lowlands of the Western Pilbara saw the scenery change from the isolated tussocked hills of the East and gorges of the centre, into sets of ridges of exposed layered rock towards the coast. There's something spectacular about ranges like this - the same type of formation that makes up much of the Macdonell Ranges near Alice, an association which can hardly be a bad thing. The road out here first follows then crosses range after range of mesmerising formations, until finally crossing one last, long, definitive range. It's amazing the effect natural border phenomenon like this have upon a traveller. A new country wasn't just symbolised, it was felt, by a drop of a good 2-3 degrees in temperature. The drop was badly needed and highly appreciated - the day's riding might have started relatively early, but it was relentlessly hot, almost dangerously so. As sad as it was to leave the hills of the Pilbara behind I was by this stage looking forward to a whole new land.
I have been to Exmouth before, on a family trip some years ago, but my memories of the place are fairly scanty. The town is not in the least familiar - though it doesn't take familiarity to recognise how new the fancy marina area is - 'marine living at its finest!' A far cry from the mining towns of the hills where the deli attendant couldn't conceal her amazement that a couple of guys would buy a quarter chicken and a single stick of cabinossi.
A little late into town I was pleased to discover the tourist influence had meant the conveniences I would have earleir taken for granted actually were still open - supermarket, petrol station, fish and chip shop, even a dive shop. So no need to resort to the emergency Deb and baked beans for dinner!
The next morning - having found myself a piece of quiet flat land to roll out the matress - I was up early as usual, and with a range of things circled all over my map of Exmouth. I'm probably more excited about Exmouth than I had been about any aspect of my trip for a long while. I didn't necessarily think I had anything special to look forward to, but chilling out, swimming reefs at my own pace, national park camping and a little bit of tourist infrastructure - simple things which nevertheless should make for a great few days. Doing a day trip on the water of the Great Barrier Reef was nice and all, but I have to say being able to take the beach to an isolated stretch of coast and just swim out to the coral is much more appealing - that's without considering the cost difference. I was up too early for any of that, though, so instead I opted to try out one of the roads up into the ranges from the East.
The big and beautiful Goshawk I got to watch gliding along the road two minutes later was just the start of the morning. The ridge road up the range was soon winding up the hill in front of my, and as I ascended above the shrubbed plains of the gulf I was wondering why I hadn't made the trip down here to set up camp (I think tomorrow night that is probably what I'll do). The morning sunshine angling across the lowland hills was spectacular, but as the road climbed its winding way up the ridge the scenery only got better and better. Somehow managing to twist myself backwards in both directions to admire the view, and simultaneously dodge the morning wildlife, I found myself defenseless against the still air and morning beauty of the range. I couldn't possibly even see it all, let alone get photographs to prove it!
Perseverance pays off, however. I stopped on the way down in a little side bay to check the view atop a rock to my left. I couldn't believe what lay before me. I took enough photographs to capture the image, but how could I do this view justice? I sat, presently, upon that rock. And sat. And listened to the three-tone song of a bird drifting through the perfectly still temperate morning air, echoing from some nook within the gorge which lay before me. I watched in wonder as little navy bomber birds darted and dove. I watched the light change as the sun progressed through the same cycle it does every day - but has never done quite like this before. I pulled out the billy and nestled into a shady hollow within the rock to have breakfast, planned the day, and pulled out the laptop to write this. I'm sitting in the cool shade of the gorge wall, and with the clock having just passed 8:30 the first car of the day slowly makes its way up this road up the range. I first climbed the range just after six - I have had this land all to myself for nearly two and a half hours. They pass, of course, slowly on up - probably not realising the view that awaits them just metres outside their airconditioned box. But that's okay. I realise.
But the morning needs to end sometime. I may very well be back up here - if not tomorrow, probably another day. For the meantime, Exmouth, the North West Cape, Ningaloo reef... the Coral Coast awaits!
Photos: http://www.flickr.com/photos/jsbaxter/tags/coralcoast/ (though admittedly, as of writing I hadn't uploaded any)
--------
@JohnSBaxter
2009-traveldiary.blogspot.com
2009-motorcyclist.blogspot.com
As of the last entry I was on my way out of the Pilbara - the only remaining stop was Paraburdoo, which at 7am on Sunday was a quiet town indeed.
So onto the road down from the hills it was - and no less stunning a trip than the days before it. The lowlands of the Western Pilbara saw the scenery change from the isolated tussocked hills of the East and gorges of the centre, into sets of ridges of exposed layered rock towards the coast. There's something spectacular about ranges like this - the same type of formation that makes up much of the Macdonell Ranges near Alice, an association which can hardly be a bad thing. The road out here first follows then crosses range after range of mesmerising formations, until finally crossing one last, long, definitive range. It's amazing the effect natural border phenomenon like this have upon a traveller. A new country wasn't just symbolised, it was felt, by a drop of a good 2-3 degrees in temperature. The drop was badly needed and highly appreciated - the day's riding might have started relatively early, but it was relentlessly hot, almost dangerously so. As sad as it was to leave the hills of the Pilbara behind I was by this stage looking forward to a whole new land.
I have been to Exmouth before, on a family trip some years ago, but my memories of the place are fairly scanty. The town is not in the least familiar - though it doesn't take familiarity to recognise how new the fancy marina area is - 'marine living at its finest!' A far cry from the mining towns of the hills where the deli attendant couldn't conceal her amazement that a couple of guys would buy a quarter chicken and a single stick of cabinossi.
A little late into town I was pleased to discover the tourist influence had meant the conveniences I would have earleir taken for granted actually were still open - supermarket, petrol station, fish and chip shop, even a dive shop. So no need to resort to the emergency Deb and baked beans for dinner!
The next morning - having found myself a piece of quiet flat land to roll out the matress - I was up early as usual, and with a range of things circled all over my map of Exmouth. I'm probably more excited about Exmouth than I had been about any aspect of my trip for a long while. I didn't necessarily think I had anything special to look forward to, but chilling out, swimming reefs at my own pace, national park camping and a little bit of tourist infrastructure - simple things which nevertheless should make for a great few days. Doing a day trip on the water of the Great Barrier Reef was nice and all, but I have to say being able to take the beach to an isolated stretch of coast and just swim out to the coral is much more appealing - that's without considering the cost difference. I was up too early for any of that, though, so instead I opted to try out one of the roads up into the ranges from the East.
The big and beautiful Goshawk I got to watch gliding along the road two minutes later was just the start of the morning. The ridge road up the range was soon winding up the hill in front of my, and as I ascended above the shrubbed plains of the gulf I was wondering why I hadn't made the trip down here to set up camp (I think tomorrow night that is probably what I'll do). The morning sunshine angling across the lowland hills was spectacular, but as the road climbed its winding way up the ridge the scenery only got better and better. Somehow managing to twist myself backwards in both directions to admire the view, and simultaneously dodge the morning wildlife, I found myself defenseless against the still air and morning beauty of the range. I couldn't possibly even see it all, let alone get photographs to prove it!
Perseverance pays off, however. I stopped on the way down in a little side bay to check the view atop a rock to my left. I couldn't believe what lay before me. I took enough photographs to capture the image, but how could I do this view justice? I sat, presently, upon that rock. And sat. And listened to the three-tone song of a bird drifting through the perfectly still temperate morning air, echoing from some nook within the gorge which lay before me. I watched in wonder as little navy bomber birds darted and dove. I watched the light change as the sun progressed through the same cycle it does every day - but has never done quite like this before. I pulled out the billy and nestled into a shady hollow within the rock to have breakfast, planned the day, and pulled out the laptop to write this. I'm sitting in the cool shade of the gorge wall, and with the clock having just passed 8:30 the first car of the day slowly makes its way up this road up the range. I first climbed the range just after six - I have had this land all to myself for nearly two and a half hours. They pass, of course, slowly on up - probably not realising the view that awaits them just metres outside their airconditioned box. But that's okay. I realise.
But the morning needs to end sometime. I may very well be back up here - if not tomorrow, probably another day. For the meantime, Exmouth, the North West Cape, Ningaloo reef... the Coral Coast awaits!
Photos: http://www.flickr.com/photos/jsbaxter/tags/coralcoast/ (though admittedly, as of writing I hadn't uploaded any)
--------
@JohnSBaxter
2009-traveldiary.blogspot.com
2009-motorcyclist.blogspot.com
Saturday, October 31, 2009
The Pilbara - History of Rocks
ODO 98,000 - that's 19k for the trip so far!
I'm on to the Pilbara now, having moved on from the Kimberly. The mighty Pilbara, heart of Australian iron ore mining, home of some of the world's oldest rocks.
It's a strange place, almost misleading. Everything is rocky and red. The iron-oxide stained pebble is virtually a substitute for soil - the latter of which, if you can find it, is guaranteed to stain the blackest of clothing rusty red. Riding through the hills here, though, its almost like being back in pastoral NSW - the spinifex matting is so thickly permeating that the area looks at first glance like cleared grassy grazing land. The trees are stunted and sparce - in no other area of the country has it been so impossible to find shade. In no other area, moreover, is it so difficult to find water - outside of the towns all you'll find is empty rest stops (virtually all NT and QLD rest stops have water as a matter of course), and wide red roads leading not to a friendly cattle-station homestead, but to a landscape-plundering mine. I spoke to a Japanes cyclist (a.k.a. nutter), whose sole source of water on the three-day 250km ride from Port Headland to the nearest roadhouse - the sole source of his most valuable commodity was the kindness of passers by. There is no planning out here, to ration your water to the next stop. Your only option is to drink when you need to and get it whenever you can. Due to prudent planning (born out of my trip down the Gibb River Rd - which proved to be more hospitable than I expected, and more hospitable even than here), I've had no concerns outside of constantly trying to get as much fluid into my stomach as possible. And that certainly is necessary - it is hot indeed. Not humid like the North, so it is frankly a pleasant change. But the dry, windy 40+ days (it was 43 in Headland when I left at 11am) drain you of your fluid before you even realise you've started sweating.
If Alice is in the 'real' outback of Australia, the Pilbara is the outback with an exclamation mark. The spinifex is more avid, the landscape is larger, older and redder. It is hotter (Marble Bar, hottest place in Oz, is just over the hill), and if it weren't for the odd cyclone blowing in from the hot summer seas to the north it may very well be drier as well. The centre is renowned for its sunsets - but so is the North West, and I can tell you the label is well deserved. Sunset over the beach in Broome (yes I Know that's not the Pilbara!) was astounding, but I've just watched the best of the trip so far. Incredible, amazing - bright and colourful, equally menacing, dwarfing my little camp upon a hill. It was even worth braving the flies (admittedly not the worst of the trip - but the second worst, by a wee margin) to admire - at least until my arms got too sore and I returned to the tent to start this. So here I am writing, waiting for the clouds to decide what they're going to do, and waiting out the flies before braving the evening air.
Once you get past the immediate and unavoidable treacherousness of the place, the Pilbara is wonderful, really and exceptionally.
As far as Australia is concerned, the Pilbara is probably too far away for virtually everything - except mining. All you need is a few good rocks, and all of a sudden you have money - and with money you can build the social structure of a region. (Not that it didn't have one before, whether European or Aboriginal - but 50 years ago it certainly wasn't like this.) The one abundand infrastructure item is public amenities - the mining companies pay for those. Nothing else can be built fast enough. You end up with towns like Port Headland and Newman with a weird feeling - almost as if they were built by communists. They look 'constructed', and probably efficient, but their character doesn't show that well through the incessant layer of iron ore dust. They are definitely lacking in shade - miners, it appears, though fanatical about keeping the grass green, are slow to realise the value of trees.
The area does have a curious pre-mining history, though, from what I can gather. The 1946 strike is a famous little bit of local history. It saw Aboriginal 'employees' from stations all through the region 'strike', and converge on Headland to demand pay (not equal pay, just pay!). I never really worked out whether it acheived all that much - Aborigines over here weren't granted a right to a minimum wage until 1968. But many of the strikers never did return to their stations, so if nothing else it was a slap-in-the-face response to their ill treatment. 1968 is a sad curiousity - the result in a large number of cases was that the Aborigines who ran the stations were suddenly too expensive, and were turfed out, kicked off their land, never to return. I haven't really found anyone to ask for more detail on all of this, but I suppose you could always go and look it up.
Broome has an even more remarkable labour history. Aborigines were originally used to collect pearl oysters (primarily for the mother-of-pear shells, rather than for the rare pearl itself), which collected along the beaches. As this resource ran out and they were forced to collect in deeper water they became increasingly reluctant (there are a range of dangers of the sea which made them naturally reluctant), culminating in slavery and forced labour. Aborigines were carted around locked up in chains and forced (women and children too) to man the luggers and dive for oysters. Pregnant women made for the best divers, apparently...
Later this practice became illegal, so Asians of various nationalities were drafted over to dive - not only were they better than Europeans, but there was no requirement to pay them full wages. Eventually the Japanese became the dominant labour source, in the sophisticated and dangerous diving suits (you know, with the big metal fishbowl helmet and fully inflated suit?).
This situation continued more-or-less amicably until WWII. The ships were all commissioned, and the Japanese all locked up. The heart of Broome is Chinatown - the closest thing the place has to a town centre. What is less commonly known is the fact that until WW!! the area was Japtown - Broome's Chinese history is relatively minor compared to its Japanese influences. These days, the famous Japanese cemetary is locked up, due to (alleged) vandalism of Japanese graves by environmentalists taking issue of Broome's (former) sister city's dolphin catch.
So the area has a bit of a chequered past. And with the Pilbara's primary occupation being exhuming itself for export you could argue it has a chequered present as well. But enough about that - I find these things remarkable, but I'm not going to pretend you need to do the same.
All in all, the area does make a fabulous and memorable touring destination. The Coral Coast, just down the hill, is a famous tourist destination - the Pilbara though is much less travelled. Sort of sad, but then I'm happy to keep it to myself for the time being.
Hoping you're enjoying wherever you are, I'll be reporting from the Coral Coast sometime soon.
Photos:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/jsbaxter/tags/pilbara/
also (inc. Broome photos, and all the Kununurra and Gibb Rivers') http://www.flickr.com/photos/jsbaxter/tags/kimberly/
--------
@JohnSBaxter
2009-traveldiary.blogspot.com
2009-motorcyclist.blogspot.com
I'm on to the Pilbara now, having moved on from the Kimberly. The mighty Pilbara, heart of Australian iron ore mining, home of some of the world's oldest rocks.
It's a strange place, almost misleading. Everything is rocky and red. The iron-oxide stained pebble is virtually a substitute for soil - the latter of which, if you can find it, is guaranteed to stain the blackest of clothing rusty red. Riding through the hills here, though, its almost like being back in pastoral NSW - the spinifex matting is so thickly permeating that the area looks at first glance like cleared grassy grazing land. The trees are stunted and sparce - in no other area of the country has it been so impossible to find shade. In no other area, moreover, is it so difficult to find water - outside of the towns all you'll find is empty rest stops (virtually all NT and QLD rest stops have water as a matter of course), and wide red roads leading not to a friendly cattle-station homestead, but to a landscape-plundering mine. I spoke to a Japanes cyclist (a.k.a. nutter), whose sole source of water on the three-day 250km ride from Port Headland to the nearest roadhouse - the sole source of his most valuable commodity was the kindness of passers by. There is no planning out here, to ration your water to the next stop. Your only option is to drink when you need to and get it whenever you can. Due to prudent planning (born out of my trip down the Gibb River Rd - which proved to be more hospitable than I expected, and more hospitable even than here), I've had no concerns outside of constantly trying to get as much fluid into my stomach as possible. And that certainly is necessary - it is hot indeed. Not humid like the North, so it is frankly a pleasant change. But the dry, windy 40+ days (it was 43 in Headland when I left at 11am) drain you of your fluid before you even realise you've started sweating.
If Alice is in the 'real' outback of Australia, the Pilbara is the outback with an exclamation mark. The spinifex is more avid, the landscape is larger, older and redder. It is hotter (Marble Bar, hottest place in Oz, is just over the hill), and if it weren't for the odd cyclone blowing in from the hot summer seas to the north it may very well be drier as well. The centre is renowned for its sunsets - but so is the North West, and I can tell you the label is well deserved. Sunset over the beach in Broome (yes I Know that's not the Pilbara!) was astounding, but I've just watched the best of the trip so far. Incredible, amazing - bright and colourful, equally menacing, dwarfing my little camp upon a hill. It was even worth braving the flies (admittedly not the worst of the trip - but the second worst, by a wee margin) to admire - at least until my arms got too sore and I returned to the tent to start this. So here I am writing, waiting for the clouds to decide what they're going to do, and waiting out the flies before braving the evening air.
Once you get past the immediate and unavoidable treacherousness of the place, the Pilbara is wonderful, really and exceptionally.
As far as Australia is concerned, the Pilbara is probably too far away for virtually everything - except mining. All you need is a few good rocks, and all of a sudden you have money - and with money you can build the social structure of a region. (Not that it didn't have one before, whether European or Aboriginal - but 50 years ago it certainly wasn't like this.) The one abundand infrastructure item is public amenities - the mining companies pay for those. Nothing else can be built fast enough. You end up with towns like Port Headland and Newman with a weird feeling - almost as if they were built by communists. They look 'constructed', and probably efficient, but their character doesn't show that well through the incessant layer of iron ore dust. They are definitely lacking in shade - miners, it appears, though fanatical about keeping the grass green, are slow to realise the value of trees.
The area does have a curious pre-mining history, though, from what I can gather. The 1946 strike is a famous little bit of local history. It saw Aboriginal 'employees' from stations all through the region 'strike', and converge on Headland to demand pay (not equal pay, just pay!). I never really worked out whether it acheived all that much - Aborigines over here weren't granted a right to a minimum wage until 1968. But many of the strikers never did return to their stations, so if nothing else it was a slap-in-the-face response to their ill treatment. 1968 is a sad curiousity - the result in a large number of cases was that the Aborigines who ran the stations were suddenly too expensive, and were turfed out, kicked off their land, never to return. I haven't really found anyone to ask for more detail on all of this, but I suppose you could always go and look it up.
Broome has an even more remarkable labour history. Aborigines were originally used to collect pearl oysters (primarily for the mother-of-pear shells, rather than for the rare pearl itself), which collected along the beaches. As this resource ran out and they were forced to collect in deeper water they became increasingly reluctant (there are a range of dangers of the sea which made them naturally reluctant), culminating in slavery and forced labour. Aborigines were carted around locked up in chains and forced (women and children too) to man the luggers and dive for oysters. Pregnant women made for the best divers, apparently...
Later this practice became illegal, so Asians of various nationalities were drafted over to dive - not only were they better than Europeans, but there was no requirement to pay them full wages. Eventually the Japanese became the dominant labour source, in the sophisticated and dangerous diving suits (you know, with the big metal fishbowl helmet and fully inflated suit?).
This situation continued more-or-less amicably until WWII. The ships were all commissioned, and the Japanese all locked up. The heart of Broome is Chinatown - the closest thing the place has to a town centre. What is less commonly known is the fact that until WW!! the area was Japtown - Broome's Chinese history is relatively minor compared to its Japanese influences. These days, the famous Japanese cemetary is locked up, due to (alleged) vandalism of Japanese graves by environmentalists taking issue of Broome's (former) sister city's dolphin catch.
So the area has a bit of a chequered past. And with the Pilbara's primary occupation being exhuming itself for export you could argue it has a chequered present as well. But enough about that - I find these things remarkable, but I'm not going to pretend you need to do the same.
All in all, the area does make a fabulous and memorable touring destination. The Coral Coast, just down the hill, is a famous tourist destination - the Pilbara though is much less travelled. Sort of sad, but then I'm happy to keep it to myself for the time being.
Hoping you're enjoying wherever you are, I'll be reporting from the Coral Coast sometime soon.
Photos:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/jsbaxter/tags/pilbara/
also (inc. Broome photos, and all the Kununurra and Gibb Rivers') http://www.flickr.com/photos/jsbaxter/tags/kimberly/
--------
@JohnSBaxter
2009-traveldiary.blogspot.com
2009-motorcyclist.blogspot.com
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Cattle, Crossings, Lakes and the Perfect Pool - West into a sun setting on WA's Kimberly
19/10/2009
ODO 96,000!
I'm back on the road again (no longer on The road, though I'll come to that). And the world is as it should be. I have a day to be in Broome (which I'm just outside), and I've done most of my chores. Not the ones that involve water (because I only have enough for me), but enough to derive some sense of satisfaction.
Going back, way back, to my last entry, I was in good old Katherine. I hung around Kath about two hours too long - which was perfect for setting the mood. The road out was warm, and with some good progress made a stop at Top Springs was definitely in order. On the map this place is a rather large dot. When you arrive you find a tiny roadhouse with $2/L unleaded. That says a lot about this stretch of land. It's not that there's nothing here (you don't have servos for nothing), but the roads all lead to cattle stations or indigenous communities, so it isn't exactly urban. Once you get off the main drag, that's what the NT is all about - that and the odd mine.
I won't go into too much detail, but I was heading out back to visit Dan and Alex (uni bike club) doing toadbusting research on a cattle station. The couple of days was a treat - despite some inexplicable antipathy for actually doing stuff (sorry Dan). On the Cox trip I was spoilt for volume of food, but here I was just plain spoilt. Thank whoever for their generosity. And it was great to get out and learn a bit about the bovine blood that feeds the NT. So the visit was more than just toads!
It would have been sad to leave had the road out not been so beautiful. So much so I was actually inspired, despite excrutiating heat, to take a few photos [http://www.flickr.com/photos/jsbaxter/4036606106/]. I headed North from Top Springs, past the Victoria River Downs station (the only life on the road for a couple hundred kms), where I duly stopped to top up the liquid of health (water!) and to ask about the roads. The track in passed three choppers outside a shed - with a fourth inside. Quite a few for one station - they're a maintenance depot, as it turned out. A couple of the guys came out as I arrived to say hello and check my insanity ("Well... there's probably been a couple of other roadbikes in my time here" - six years!), and work out what the bike was. Despite only dropping in for a two minute pit stop, I could not have been made more welcome. I was flattered at being offered coke and beer, while the slice I didn't say no to. Waiting in the shade for the sweat to cool off Hillke approached to ask if I wanted to accompany Tass - moving one of the choppers around the back! I didn't say no to that either! And didn't complain when 'moving it around the back' meant taking a five minute flyover of the main station! They're funky little things, mustering choppers. Just sitting in it and watching the startup procedure, the range of guages and instruments - thoroughly enthralling. So I was back on the road with a special little memory of Victoria River Downs - thanks to Hillke, Tass, Andrew and the Other Guy (75% is a pass), it was a stop I won't forget.
The approach to Jasper Gorge saw an increasingly beautiful backdrop to the quite solid dirt road, and I was on the lookout for a view to stop and record when I noticed an unscheduled campground by a billabong. Only when I pulled in and got off did I realise how rooted I'd gotten - less than 300km covered, and by lunchtime I needed a shower, bath, swim, steak, ice cream and 2.25L bottle of Gatorade. In reverse order. So out came the billy for a liquid lunch - and by that stage the place had obviously become a winner for that night's camp. I was in no state to continue on without some rest.
The next day proved no less arduous, but I paced myself to handle it better. I hadn't planned it, but since I'd made such an early start I figured I'd turn right towards Victoria River (roadhouse and river valley). The decision paid off with some of the most beautiful surroundings of the trip [http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2546/4035870243_997d90d539_m.jpg]. It almost seemed a cheat - the only thing that would have made it better would have been doing it on a lonely dusty track, rather than a trafficed tarred highway. I was in Timber Creek in time for a lazy lunch - plan being to sit out the heat. The pub turned out uninviting, but rising cloud cover signalled an early departure for a quick trip into the (Western section) Gregory NP. Now I love [savannah woodland [http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2594/4035869405_9687fb78fd_m.jpg], and the top end has so much of it, but it had never really hit the right note until travelling through it on a twisty little park track. The quality was pretty good - I didn't really get the '4WD Recommended' until shortly after one particular 'Dip' sign, reinforced later by a 'River Crossing' which talked me into turning back early - that and the increasingly ominous sky. Two days prior at the station (Camfield, not VRD), all the talk was of rains - which never looked like coming, and didn't while I was there. These clouds though, they definitely looked like coming. They had been gathering from quite early on, and by this stage in the afternoon they were well and truly present. Thing was, though, after really struggling in the sun for two days - more than I had at any time previously on the trip - I was willing to look past the inconvenience, and forward to the prospect of cool, wet relief cascading from above. The don't call this season the build up for nothing.
In the end, rain fell - but not on me. The clouds had proven as reluctant as those from earlier in the week, though through sheer weight they did appear to inundate the highlands a few kms to the south of camp. I'd set up camp just in time to catch what did come, but the few drops were little more than symbolic - the night was as stuffy as ever, and as usual I woke with myself the only soggy object.
The next morning was the last little trot into Kununurra. After an hour or two riding through escarpment-bordered valleys the WA border approached with a change of scenery as much as any man-made formality. By the time the border was reached the land had taken on a dryness so much more stark than anything else in the NT - only the country around the Gulf of Carpentaria had the same feeling. The whole of the NT was dry - but the plants seem resigned to it, almost happy with a restful parching. Out here though it feels like the country is struggling with it - even as the road got nearer and nearer the sea.
That is not to imply there was any less beauty in it - the rocky hills on the road to Lake Argyle would have overshadowed any lesser lake. But Argyle! I suggest you look it up on a map - the quantitative comparison to bodies like Sydney Harbour does it no justice. Check out [some of the photos I took [http://www.flickr.com/photos/jsbaxter/4036631462/]. You see before you a huge lake - what's amazing is that the water does not stop with the valley, but extends through headlands to left and right as far as the eye can see. The section the dam and lookouts overlook is about a quarter of a tiny section near the top - perhaps itself ten percent of the total surface area. It is classed, apparently, as an inland sea, and the moniker is not unjustified - if you didn't know better you might assume it extends out into the Indian Ocean. Perhaps the most startling fact is that this whole area was brought about by a relatively small dam on one modest river about fifty years ago. A river, no less, which would have been more or less dry at this time of the year (hence the need for a dam). Wow.
Kununurra proved to be quite a nice little town. One of the county's newest (built to service the dam construction, and then the farmland that it irrigated), it has many different faces for such a little place. It has a bit of the sunshine/holiday of the Gold Coast, the getaway/resort of Noosa, the community of Tennant Creek, the agricultural variety of Atherton, the laid-back feel of the NT and the culinary feel of Darwin (well, a tiny bit). And it's built right up against a national park which rivals Kakadu for sheer, rocky gorgeousness. If you wanted to drift away from it all you shouldn't have much trouble getting work in tourism through the dry ('winter'), or agricultural stuff at many other times of the year. It's one of only two places off the East Coast which I'd describe as 'liveable' - Alice being the other. The only downside is that with 5/6 thousand people it is, despite its many faces, far to small. No aspect is developed enough to really engage. But that said, if you like small - or just want to get away from everything else - it'd be worth a try.
The only place I could think of better to spend a weekend catching the Phillip Island GP is the Island itself - a couple thousand kms less of a journey and that's where I would have been. Stoner having duly won it - a blow against his critics as much as against his competitors - it was time to head off - down the might Gibb.
Ask anybody that knows it and they'll respond with an understanding nod and a smile - the Gibb River road has an aura about its name. Part of that aura is the treachery and the challenge - the boss at Kununurra bike shop (cheers to Neville for letting me use the drill outside working hours!) declared in no uncertain terms "yes, you'll be breaking levers on that thing". A random ex-biker in Tennant Creek is still watching the news for the crazy biker from Sydney lost in the Kimberly. I was told even before I left that there is no way I should do a round trip on an SV, "because you will have to explain when people ask, why you didn't do roads like the Gibb."
For other people (mainly in 4WDs who've just done the journey), the first thing they tell you is about how amazing the trip is, how it's the most beautiful country in Australia. How it's hot, it's hard - but it's worth it. How you won't forget it - presumably, like they won't. And these are the people that tell you it's not as bad as others might say. "A roadbike!?" they might exclaim - but "brave" is their assessment, not "suicidal".
It doesn't take long to realise the assessments of 4WDers need to be taken with due respect to the their looking glass (a big metal cage with four drive wheels which won't fall over if you hit a big rock at 30kph). But they had one thing right - the road ain't that bad. 80% of it is rough, but easy going. 19.99% of it is rough as guts, but not dangerous. The other 0.001% is the Pentecost.
There are two crossings of this river. One into El Questro Gorge (resort, cattle station, and more importantly - source of fuel), and one on the road proper. I got into El Questro without drama. The crossing is long, wet (25cm) and rocky, but after two laps getting the boots nice and soggy I'd developed a plan which worked better than expected. On the way out... lets just say making it once doesn't mean it will be easy with 15kg more fuel (including a 6kg jerry perilously strapped), 5kg more bag - while vainly to keep your boots dry. First thing in the morning. No one factor would have been terminal, but as [they say;http://survivalskills.wordpress.com/], accidents are all to often result of a set of seemingly innocent factors.
In the end the only real casualty was my bag of rice (although there's a fair chance it wasn't just the heat which cooked my mobile battery a couple of days later), and I actually picked myself up out of the water with more cheer than I'd gone in. It was annoying, but it's still funny when a bike ends up in the river, no matter whose it is. (Especially when the exhaust fills with water!) I guess I was pretty lucky, I had a lot of things which shouldn't have gotten off so lightly.
As it turns out, the main crossing of the Pentecost wasn't anywhere near as bad as it could have been. The rocks are worse, and it is probably a good 100m wide, but there was actually no necessary water crossing - everything had either evaporated by this point, or flowed underneath the rubble. The footing was boulderous by 4WD standards, but as solid as it was intimidating - I'd dropped it earlier because smaller loose rocks shifted while I was trying to steer around a big one. A bit of calm planning and cowboy throttle control (less is not more, more is more!)
If I wasn't so happy about having dominated the worst the Gibb had to throw at me I'd have stopped to take a photo - but as it was I thought that was just the beginning. In a sense, it is - the Pentecost marks the 'real' beginning to the Gibb, like a gateway that demands for you to prove you're serious before you pass. But in another way, the Pentecost is the only real hurdle to the Gibb. Any half-abled road bike with some sort of tyre (no canvass please!) would be able to do the rest, at some level of comfort and speed. It really isn't a 4WD track like some will have you believe (and like I was looking forward to, to be honest...) - it's two and a half lanes of flat, dusty, corrugated road. If they paved all the crossings you could do it in a hatchback or on a scooler. You might have half your bolts rattled out (I actually lost none!), but as long as you were expecting it you'd be fine.
But you want to hear about the Gibb River Road!? Well it is charming, and it is beautiful. As good as the road is, though, it is neither a back country track, nor a walk in the park. You need to watch it all the time - watch for rocks, sand, gravel, livestock... And it didn't have the momentous sense of adventure like a real track does - like the road should.
Once you get over the road not being the highlight of your time on the Earth you realise how much there is to appreciate. We all know I love savannah woodland, and it has it in spades. The far Eastern End (before the Pentecost) is absolutely stunning, as it cuts through the King Leopold Ranges at one tip of their crescent. Most of the middle is plains (/valley - but a big one!), and really pleasant country if not rivetting. When you get back into the King Leopold Ranges once again (and their foothills) the real charm of the Kimberly comes out. Mt Barnett River is nice, Bell Gorge is lovely, but Manning Gorge is heart rendering. This is exactly what the Gibb - nay, the whole Top End - is about, at least as far as the nature thing goes. It's so far from anything it's a miracle to be able to get there, and it has the perfect mix of swimming-spotted campground, with walk to even more astonishing higher pools - palm fringed, rocky or sandy as you choose, shady or sunny, with goannas, cormorants, fish, even a selection of warm or cool water! If I had known I'd have a day to spare I'd have spent it up there, walked it a couple of times, lounged by the various pools... As it so happens, it's the one I didn't get any photos of : ) I spent all my time there enjoying it so much, I'll just have to let you go and do the same. Go on! It'll be worth it.
In the end, that spare day I ended up with (today!), was because of an unexpected closure - I was pushing on to get through an elongated route down to Fiztroy Crossing when I hit a 'road closed' sign. Bushfires - just my luck. And that more-or-less meant the end to my Gibb River adventure. (All the more sad because it was just hitting the heat of the day and I was already ragged - very appreciative to come across a wonderful specimen of grotesquely beautiful Australian flora - giant, shady boab!)
I didn't complain when I'd filled up in Derby and discovered my economy calculations were spot on - I'd have made my original plan, I think, but if I'd gone another 15km down that road before hitting the closure I wouldn't have made the nearest servo. So my luck hadn't deserted me, just transmuted itself into a convenient ending.
I spent a pleasant enough five minutes in Derby - discovering a little something about WA which I sort of always knew... but that will wait for another time.
So today popped out of nowhere (I'm in Broome tomorrow and for the weekend, as MotoGP heads to Malaysia) - free of charge - and I suddenly have too much time to put off updating the blog. (I started writing entries four or five times, but I was always too tired to get beyond the first paragraph.) That ain't so bad. It's been a long week and a half. You've missed a lot. Me, I'm happy enough to sit down and relax.
Speaking of which.
--------
@JohnSBaxter
2009-traveldiary.blogspot.com
2009-motorcyclist.blogspot.com
ODO 96,000!
I'm back on the road again (no longer on The road, though I'll come to that). And the world is as it should be. I have a day to be in Broome (which I'm just outside), and I've done most of my chores. Not the ones that involve water (because I only have enough for me), but enough to derive some sense of satisfaction.
Going back, way back, to my last entry, I was in good old Katherine. I hung around Kath about two hours too long - which was perfect for setting the mood. The road out was warm, and with some good progress made a stop at Top Springs was definitely in order. On the map this place is a rather large dot. When you arrive you find a tiny roadhouse with $2/L unleaded. That says a lot about this stretch of land. It's not that there's nothing here (you don't have servos for nothing), but the roads all lead to cattle stations or indigenous communities, so it isn't exactly urban. Once you get off the main drag, that's what the NT is all about - that and the odd mine.
I won't go into too much detail, but I was heading out back to visit Dan and Alex (uni bike club) doing toadbusting research on a cattle station. The couple of days was a treat - despite some inexplicable antipathy for actually doing stuff (sorry Dan). On the Cox trip I was spoilt for volume of food, but here I was just plain spoilt. Thank whoever for their generosity. And it was great to get out and learn a bit about the bovine blood that feeds the NT. So the visit was more than just toads!
It would have been sad to leave had the road out not been so beautiful. So much so I was actually inspired, despite excrutiating heat, to take a few photos [http://www.flickr.com/photos/jsbaxter/4036606106/]. I headed North from Top Springs, past the Victoria River Downs station (the only life on the road for a couple hundred kms), where I duly stopped to top up the liquid of health (water!) and to ask about the roads. The track in passed three choppers outside a shed - with a fourth inside. Quite a few for one station - they're a maintenance depot, as it turned out. A couple of the guys came out as I arrived to say hello and check my insanity ("Well... there's probably been a couple of other roadbikes in my time here" - six years!), and work out what the bike was. Despite only dropping in for a two minute pit stop, I could not have been made more welcome. I was flattered at being offered coke and beer, while the slice I didn't say no to. Waiting in the shade for the sweat to cool off Hillke approached to ask if I wanted to accompany Tass - moving one of the choppers around the back! I didn't say no to that either! And didn't complain when 'moving it around the back' meant taking a five minute flyover of the main station! They're funky little things, mustering choppers. Just sitting in it and watching the startup procedure, the range of guages and instruments - thoroughly enthralling. So I was back on the road with a special little memory of Victoria River Downs - thanks to Hillke, Tass, Andrew and the Other Guy (75% is a pass), it was a stop I won't forget.
The approach to Jasper Gorge saw an increasingly beautiful backdrop to the quite solid dirt road, and I was on the lookout for a view to stop and record when I noticed an unscheduled campground by a billabong. Only when I pulled in and got off did I realise how rooted I'd gotten - less than 300km covered, and by lunchtime I needed a shower, bath, swim, steak, ice cream and 2.25L bottle of Gatorade. In reverse order. So out came the billy for a liquid lunch - and by that stage the place had obviously become a winner for that night's camp. I was in no state to continue on without some rest.
The next day proved no less arduous, but I paced myself to handle it better. I hadn't planned it, but since I'd made such an early start I figured I'd turn right towards Victoria River (roadhouse and river valley). The decision paid off with some of the most beautiful surroundings of the trip [http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2546/4035870243_997d90d539_m.jpg]. It almost seemed a cheat - the only thing that would have made it better would have been doing it on a lonely dusty track, rather than a trafficed tarred highway. I was in Timber Creek in time for a lazy lunch - plan being to sit out the heat. The pub turned out uninviting, but rising cloud cover signalled an early departure for a quick trip into the (Western section) Gregory NP. Now I love [savannah woodland [http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2594/4035869405_9687fb78fd_m.jpg], and the top end has so much of it, but it had never really hit the right note until travelling through it on a twisty little park track. The quality was pretty good - I didn't really get the '4WD Recommended' until shortly after one particular 'Dip' sign, reinforced later by a 'River Crossing' which talked me into turning back early - that and the increasingly ominous sky. Two days prior at the station (Camfield, not VRD), all the talk was of rains - which never looked like coming, and didn't while I was there. These clouds though, they definitely looked like coming. They had been gathering from quite early on, and by this stage in the afternoon they were well and truly present. Thing was, though, after really struggling in the sun for two days - more than I had at any time previously on the trip - I was willing to look past the inconvenience, and forward to the prospect of cool, wet relief cascading from above. The don't call this season the build up for nothing.
In the end, rain fell - but not on me. The clouds had proven as reluctant as those from earlier in the week, though through sheer weight they did appear to inundate the highlands a few kms to the south of camp. I'd set up camp just in time to catch what did come, but the few drops were little more than symbolic - the night was as stuffy as ever, and as usual I woke with myself the only soggy object.
The next morning was the last little trot into Kununurra. After an hour or two riding through escarpment-bordered valleys the WA border approached with a change of scenery as much as any man-made formality. By the time the border was reached the land had taken on a dryness so much more stark than anything else in the NT - only the country around the Gulf of Carpentaria had the same feeling. The whole of the NT was dry - but the plants seem resigned to it, almost happy with a restful parching. Out here though it feels like the country is struggling with it - even as the road got nearer and nearer the sea.
That is not to imply there was any less beauty in it - the rocky hills on the road to Lake Argyle would have overshadowed any lesser lake. But Argyle! I suggest you look it up on a map - the quantitative comparison to bodies like Sydney Harbour does it no justice. Check out [some of the photos I took [http://www.flickr.com/photos/jsbaxter/4036631462/]. You see before you a huge lake - what's amazing is that the water does not stop with the valley, but extends through headlands to left and right as far as the eye can see. The section the dam and lookouts overlook is about a quarter of a tiny section near the top - perhaps itself ten percent of the total surface area. It is classed, apparently, as an inland sea, and the moniker is not unjustified - if you didn't know better you might assume it extends out into the Indian Ocean. Perhaps the most startling fact is that this whole area was brought about by a relatively small dam on one modest river about fifty years ago. A river, no less, which would have been more or less dry at this time of the year (hence the need for a dam). Wow.
Kununurra proved to be quite a nice little town. One of the county's newest (built to service the dam construction, and then the farmland that it irrigated), it has many different faces for such a little place. It has a bit of the sunshine/holiday of the Gold Coast, the getaway/resort of Noosa, the community of Tennant Creek, the agricultural variety of Atherton, the laid-back feel of the NT and the culinary feel of Darwin (well, a tiny bit). And it's built right up against a national park which rivals Kakadu for sheer, rocky gorgeousness. If you wanted to drift away from it all you shouldn't have much trouble getting work in tourism through the dry ('winter'), or agricultural stuff at many other times of the year. It's one of only two places off the East Coast which I'd describe as 'liveable' - Alice being the other. The only downside is that with 5/6 thousand people it is, despite its many faces, far to small. No aspect is developed enough to really engage. But that said, if you like small - or just want to get away from everything else - it'd be worth a try.
The only place I could think of better to spend a weekend catching the Phillip Island GP is the Island itself - a couple thousand kms less of a journey and that's where I would have been. Stoner having duly won it - a blow against his critics as much as against his competitors - it was time to head off - down the might Gibb.
Ask anybody that knows it and they'll respond with an understanding nod and a smile - the Gibb River road has an aura about its name. Part of that aura is the treachery and the challenge - the boss at Kununurra bike shop (cheers to Neville for letting me use the drill outside working hours!) declared in no uncertain terms "yes, you'll be breaking levers on that thing". A random ex-biker in Tennant Creek is still watching the news for the crazy biker from Sydney lost in the Kimberly. I was told even before I left that there is no way I should do a round trip on an SV, "because you will have to explain when people ask, why you didn't do roads like the Gibb."
For other people (mainly in 4WDs who've just done the journey), the first thing they tell you is about how amazing the trip is, how it's the most beautiful country in Australia. How it's hot, it's hard - but it's worth it. How you won't forget it - presumably, like they won't. And these are the people that tell you it's not as bad as others might say. "A roadbike!?" they might exclaim - but "brave" is their assessment, not "suicidal".
It doesn't take long to realise the assessments of 4WDers need to be taken with due respect to the their looking glass (a big metal cage with four drive wheels which won't fall over if you hit a big rock at 30kph). But they had one thing right - the road ain't that bad. 80% of it is rough, but easy going. 19.99% of it is rough as guts, but not dangerous. The other 0.001% is the Pentecost.
There are two crossings of this river. One into El Questro Gorge (resort, cattle station, and more importantly - source of fuel), and one on the road proper. I got into El Questro without drama. The crossing is long, wet (25cm) and rocky, but after two laps getting the boots nice and soggy I'd developed a plan which worked better than expected. On the way out... lets just say making it once doesn't mean it will be easy with 15kg more fuel (including a 6kg jerry perilously strapped), 5kg more bag - while vainly to keep your boots dry. First thing in the morning. No one factor would have been terminal, but as [they say;http://survivalskills.wordpress.com/], accidents are all to often result of a set of seemingly innocent factors.
In the end the only real casualty was my bag of rice (although there's a fair chance it wasn't just the heat which cooked my mobile battery a couple of days later), and I actually picked myself up out of the water with more cheer than I'd gone in. It was annoying, but it's still funny when a bike ends up in the river, no matter whose it is. (Especially when the exhaust fills with water!) I guess I was pretty lucky, I had a lot of things which shouldn't have gotten off so lightly.
As it turns out, the main crossing of the Pentecost wasn't anywhere near as bad as it could have been. The rocks are worse, and it is probably a good 100m wide, but there was actually no necessary water crossing - everything had either evaporated by this point, or flowed underneath the rubble. The footing was boulderous by 4WD standards, but as solid as it was intimidating - I'd dropped it earlier because smaller loose rocks shifted while I was trying to steer around a big one. A bit of calm planning and cowboy throttle control (less is not more, more is more!)
If I wasn't so happy about having dominated the worst the Gibb had to throw at me I'd have stopped to take a photo - but as it was I thought that was just the beginning. In a sense, it is - the Pentecost marks the 'real' beginning to the Gibb, like a gateway that demands for you to prove you're serious before you pass. But in another way, the Pentecost is the only real hurdle to the Gibb. Any half-abled road bike with some sort of tyre (no canvass please!) would be able to do the rest, at some level of comfort and speed. It really isn't a 4WD track like some will have you believe (and like I was looking forward to, to be honest...) - it's two and a half lanes of flat, dusty, corrugated road. If they paved all the crossings you could do it in a hatchback or on a scooler. You might have half your bolts rattled out (I actually lost none!), but as long as you were expecting it you'd be fine.
But you want to hear about the Gibb River Road!? Well it is charming, and it is beautiful. As good as the road is, though, it is neither a back country track, nor a walk in the park. You need to watch it all the time - watch for rocks, sand, gravel, livestock... And it didn't have the momentous sense of adventure like a real track does - like the road should.
Once you get over the road not being the highlight of your time on the Earth you realise how much there is to appreciate. We all know I love savannah woodland, and it has it in spades. The far Eastern End (before the Pentecost) is absolutely stunning, as it cuts through the King Leopold Ranges at one tip of their crescent. Most of the middle is plains (/valley - but a big one!), and really pleasant country if not rivetting. When you get back into the King Leopold Ranges once again (and their foothills) the real charm of the Kimberly comes out. Mt Barnett River is nice, Bell Gorge is lovely, but Manning Gorge is heart rendering. This is exactly what the Gibb - nay, the whole Top End - is about, at least as far as the nature thing goes. It's so far from anything it's a miracle to be able to get there, and it has the perfect mix of swimming-spotted campground, with walk to even more astonishing higher pools - palm fringed, rocky or sandy as you choose, shady or sunny, with goannas, cormorants, fish, even a selection of warm or cool water! If I had known I'd have a day to spare I'd have spent it up there, walked it a couple of times, lounged by the various pools... As it so happens, it's the one I didn't get any photos of : ) I spent all my time there enjoying it so much, I'll just have to let you go and do the same. Go on! It'll be worth it.
In the end, that spare day I ended up with (today!), was because of an unexpected closure - I was pushing on to get through an elongated route down to Fiztroy Crossing when I hit a 'road closed' sign. Bushfires - just my luck. And that more-or-less meant the end to my Gibb River adventure. (All the more sad because it was just hitting the heat of the day and I was already ragged - very appreciative to come across a wonderful specimen of grotesquely beautiful Australian flora - giant, shady boab!)
I didn't complain when I'd filled up in Derby and discovered my economy calculations were spot on - I'd have made my original plan, I think, but if I'd gone another 15km down that road before hitting the closure I wouldn't have made the nearest servo. So my luck hadn't deserted me, just transmuted itself into a convenient ending.
I spent a pleasant enough five minutes in Derby - discovering a little something about WA which I sort of always knew... but that will wait for another time.
So today popped out of nowhere (I'm in Broome tomorrow and for the weekend, as MotoGP heads to Malaysia) - free of charge - and I suddenly have too much time to put off updating the blog. (I started writing entries four or five times, but I was always too tired to get beyond the first paragraph.) That ain't so bad. It's been a long week and a half. You've missed a lot. Me, I'm happy enough to sit down and relax.
Speaking of which.
--------
@JohnSBaxter
2009-traveldiary.blogspot.com
2009-motorcyclist.blogspot.com
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