Posts Tagged ‘outback’

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Eat Pray Love… or something along those lines.

March 18, 2013

After staying in far North Queensland for way too long the best plan of attack was to get back to Brisbane before my ship sailed.

But having cycled up the whole way I decided a different form of transport was to be taken back down.

Part of the way anyway.

This is where Adrian came in. Being a friend of a friend of a friend of mine he offered to take me down the coast to Bowen from where I would get back on my bicycle.

Adrian

On the way up I’ve been taken the backtracks, so it was good to see what I missed out on from a different perspective. Not Much.

My View

The Bruce highway is a narrow road, most of the way without shoulder and a massive amount of trucks.

From up high in the comfy and dry cabin I did actually feel sorry for the one cyclist we saw along the way. Although if it would’ve been me, I know that I usually feel sorry for all those people stuck behind their little windows.

So I guess I do well on both sides of the fence…

After a night at a ridiculously expensive backpackers in Bowen (44$ for a dorm bed..) I finally managed to get back on two wheels and started peddling up the road.

I knew I’m a bit out of shape, I hadn’t actually done much cycling at all for about 6 months!

But I didn’t remember it being this heavy.. until I realized I might help if I put some air in my tyres. It did :-)

Next hurdle was the range, I came in from a different direction last time and kinda forgot about the great dividing range… And the narrow road crawling up with trucks and mining vehicles flying by. Oops.

But all went fine, until I found out there was no way I could take a break because the second I stopped riding the march flies came down to attack, they don’t just bite like a mosquito, no they just chew off half your arm.

Not that I’m complaining.

Time to cool down

I would not do such a thing. But after 110km in 36 degrees, no wind and 60% humidity I was very pleased to find a little waterhole (crocodile free) where I could cool down a little before riding back through the gates of Strathmore Station.

Strathmore

The very place I spend a whole week on the way up when the Bowen River Rodeo was on.

As it happened Paul & Sally where just leaving for a few days, so I waited for their return before heading off. That wasn’t a problem since there is enough to explore around the historic homestead and surroundings.

Black Cockatoo

This is the wet season but there hadn’t been too much rain yet. This all changed when I showed up and it started pissing down…

One other minor detail was that my knee had started making funny noises and wouldn’t bend for a day or three.

All these little things together made me decide to jump back into the truck with Adrian and head a little further south…

A little became 1000 km as I didn’t get out in Rockhampton, as planned. Or Maryborough, as back-up planned.

Instead I got all the way to Gympie where Adrian owns a property and lives, whenever he’s not on the road, with Leanne and his two daughters Kayleen and Daina.

Adrian, Leanne & the girls

They showed me around and took me to the local Barrel Races,

Australia you think?

Barrel Races

Daina’s passion.

Daina

Across the road, in another one of those typical Queensland houses lives Mick.

Mick told me to crash at his place since there is more space. And he was heading off the next morning for a week run-around outback Queensland. Mick is a truck driver too.

Mick

He used to be a helicopter pilot up in the Territory and has many a story of remote area’s and outback adventures. A delight to listen too.

Mick also has a bunch of horses, cows, dogs and pigs who kept me company during the stay in his house.

Mick & his Mate

As he left he showed me the fridge, “Help yourself to anything”, the car “Here’s the keys”, and the house “Make yourself at home, see you in a week!“

Mick's Place

He left me slightly stunned. In most places it would be un imaginable your neighbour turns up with a stranger and you leave them after chatting for a couple of hours, in charge of everything you own…

It was very lucky. As the rain had set in and every exit road had flooded.

Road flooded

I wasn’t all alone as Leanne insisted I come across the road and have dinner with her and the family. And the other neighbour, Linda, would call around , feed the pigs and have a coffee and a chat. Nice to see neighbours helping each other out.

After a week I felt pretty much at home…

But it was time to move on.

Bridge

No matter how much I enjoyed the house and the riding lessons Daina took it upon herself to give me…,

Still Trying

more rain had been predicted and I’d better get out before it flooded again if I wanted to get to Pomona.

Which I did.

I had signed up to go and sit on the floor for 10 days and not speak.

Which is an excellent passing of time when its raining all the time.

I’ve heard about ‘Vipassana meditation‘ from various people over the past 12-odd years.

It’s a meditation technic passed on from teacher to student over 2500 years since Buddha told people in India back in the day.

It wasn’t a run-around-naked, tree hugging, hippy-thing. (as some of my friends worried)

It’s actually a fairly simple technic you can use to … well eradicate suffering. So they say.

Interesting enough it wasn’t the not-talking that was the most difficult part.

It wasn’t the fact that you only got a breakfast and lunch at 11.00am and then nothing more but an apple for the rest of the day.

It wasn’t the fact that you get up at 4.00am every day either.

Or the fact you were not allowed your phone, computer or even a pen & paper or a book.

It was the sitting. 12 hours a day.

By day 4 I was so sore I couldn’t sleep. I tried laying on the floor, walking a while. It was just no good. The weird thing was, it was all gone after the first meditation session the next day.

When you see the old students in the front sitting as still as a statue for hours on end you wonder, while you twist and turn and can’t get comfortable in any way.

And because the first few days you don’t quiet know what you are actually doing (it all becomes clearer towards the end) you spend a fair bit of time ‘meditating’ on your bed, with your eyes closed, snoring… Well I’m not sure about the others but it happened to me a few times.

If you would’ve walked into the meditation hall towards the end of the course, and you saw 60 people sitting death still with their eyes closed you might’ve wondered about our sanity. I would’ve.

But while you sit there and learn to observe you notice ‘stuff’ happening.

I’m not going to get into any further detail now because I’ve already got 1464 words as it is.

It was great to be able to chat to the girl I spend sharing a room with for 10 days at the end. Aneita lives in Brisbane and we spend a day or two just talking when the course had finished.

One of the best things I found out when I got my phone back was the news of the birth of little Saar Esther, back in the Netherlands.

Saar Esther

Another niece :-)

…………

Before having to leave the country I caught up with some more relatives of mine who happened to be holidaying in Noosa.

2nd Cousin Rodney & Family

I even got a ride out on the jet ski, but I never did anything like this;

Jump

I rather leave that to my cousins out here. I prefer to keep my feet on solid ground. So it might sound strange but with all my dislike of water I jumped straight back on a ship.

But not before catching up with some of the people who helped me see, and love this country,

like Frank who took me across the Simpson Desert in 2011.

Frank

And Inge & Edward, my friends from Buff, So little Saar got here first Buff too :)

Sally (& Paul) , Who is up at Strathmore and I will hopefully see again one day.

Sally

Paul, who managed to get my bike and all my gear in a little Hyundai Getz! (rather different from the F100 indeed…)

Paul

And my great Aunt & Uncle,

Uncle Dick

Aunt Ineke

And now.
Finally.
I will move on.

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No Particular Reason

December 16, 2012

And when I got there, I figured, since I’ve gone this far, I might as well turn right around, just keep on going…

-Forest Gump-

Cape York

Good intentions I only made it 200km down from the Tip of Cape York when Rick passed me and asked if I needed a lift.

Rick

I didn’t need one. But I didn’t mind either…

I got lazy…

Instead of riding the same stretch of dusty corrugated dirt, I could spent a bit more time in the places I liked on my way up.

So it was ‘so long’ Cape York with its beautiful beaches.

(where you cant swim unless you liked to get chewed on)

Althought it didn’t stop some,

Crocs don't worry them..And see you later…

LocalsWhen I finally got out of Rick’s very comfortable, airconditioned, tourbus I was about 500km further south and back into lovely rainforest country.

Back through rainforest

I rode back to Cooktown, where I spent a few days on the way up months ago.Cooktown

The nice thing of cycling through places you’ve been before is that it feels like coming home a little. You’re not a complete stranger. You might even run into some old friends. (…..)

Hamish & AndyHamish & Andy happened to just be re-enacting the landing of Captain Cook when I strolled passed.

This time I took a little more time to wander around, climb up a big hill and enjoy the views.

I rode back down passed the old Lions Den Hotel, where nothing has changed,

and into Wujal Wujal, where nothing had changed either…

Back to Cairns where I happened to have a few days up my sleeve.

I decided to do something completely different.

Eventhough I don’t like water much at all.

turtleBut while youre here you can’t really skip the chance to have a look at the great barrier reef.

Underwaterworld

-More to come-

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About Traffic and Termites

September 13, 2012

Where my road met the Peninsula developmental Road the track became a little less funny.

I found that a lot of people heading North on this large and long dirt track ride with a ‘highway mentality“, as I call it.

It means people are in a hurry to get somewhere, the top of Australia in this case, and don’t want to spent too long getting there.

For me this means dust. A lot of dust.

I did come up with a pretty good way of slowing vehicles down.

I ride in the middle of the road.

It confuses the drivers and they slow down wondering what’s going on.

Not everybody thinks it’s funny. The facial expressions ranged from shock to surprise, from horror  to amazement and anger to total confusion.

But it did work.

Every single time :-)

And so I made my way North of the old Telegraph Station of Musgrave towards the small town of Coen.

I passed some road works, friendly as ever the watertruck driver directed me to the homestead a little further up the road. “Make sure you call in and ask for Sue! “

As it happens a whole lot of people were around at Yarraden station, first I ran into two little kids on a quad who directed me to the main house,

where a warm welcome awaited with cold drinks, hot showers, a meal and even a proper bed on the upstairs verandah.

It was lovely!

It still seems odd to me how the people here seem to find it perfectly normal to be living in such a remote place with the next door neighbours 100km down the track.

For me those homesteads and stations have been a blessing in Australia. Always a friendly smile and a warm welcome. Like an oasis in the desert.

And not just the people living in those remote places.

Even though on this busy dirt road most people are in a mad hurry to get to the tip and back in as little time as possible, some still slow down.

A wave and a smile, sometimes a request to take a picture.

Once in a while they would pull up and have a chat and give me food!

Like two Swiss couples I met them on their way up. And when they passed me again on their way down we all set on the side of the road having lunch and a coffee. They left me with stacks of food and even cleaned my coffeepot. It has never been that shiny before!

The Telegraph Line, established back in 1885 was for a long time the only method of communication for those living on the Cape York peninsula.

Untill 1962 it operated with just two wires sending morse codes via repeater stations and homesteads along the way.

The line was upgraded to radio in WWII and was still used for telephone cable untill 1987 when it was finally dismantled.

But a lot of the original poles are still there.

And the original track it used to follow is now a paradise for 4WD enthusiasts and adventure cyclist alike.

Some of the stations are still around.

But now they’ve transformed into road houses and places where the weary dusty traveller can put their feet up and enjoy a cold beer and a burger. If you like.

Other places that made a good stop were along water crossings and rivers.

I pulled up at Archer river roadhouse one afternoon, not realizing I was still going to be around 3 days later.

With its shallow and cool water its a lovely spot to have a refreshing beer and a chat to people passing along.

So what was once known as the last frontier is now a not all too difficult, but very long and corrugated bike ride in the dust.

Untill you reach Bramwell Junction.

I was happy to turn off the dusty highway into the Bramwell station grounds and have, at least for the next 15km the track to myself.

And a few animals.

I enjoyed the scenery with massive termite mounts along the track. They are no ants, they’re closely related to the cockroach and they’re rather active in Northern Australia, building mounts as high as 5 meters!

All peace and quiet was gone as soon as I got to Bramwell. I had chosen the same night to camp there as 130 people on a charity run for children. All decked out 4WD vehicles and characters in funny dress. Ah well, if you can’t beat them… :-)

Here you have got the choice of following the PDR or head up the much quieter, scenic but pretty rough OTT, or old Telegraph track.

It was lovely!

Although a little slower.

This is the track I’ve heard everybody talking about.

It started out wonderfully.

Because it’s a narrow single lane track vehicles have to slow right down and there’s no dust and gravel spitting in my face.

It also has a lot of river crossings that any sane person in a vehicle would not attempt. There’s few sane people up this far north…

The first one, still easy to reach and thus quiet busy, Palm Creek, is a steep muddy slope down a not so very deep creek.

But with so many people around everybody gave me a hand carrying some stuff across and by the time I reached the other side with my bicycle my gear was already neatly piled up on the side of the track.

I spend another hour or so watching the entertainment of vehicles and motorbikes getting themselves bogged and helping each other through.

Just when I was to set off I noticed Marty on the other side, I’d met him days earlier at Archer river where he and his uncle cooked up a storm and shared some alcoholic beverages. (one of the reasons I stayed there for three nights..) They were now on their way south again.

The next creek, only just down the track was a little harder. No people around this time so it took a fair while to get everything across. No crocodiles in sight. So that’s good news.

I pitched my tent at another lovely creek crossing together with some guys & girls who’d helped me across the first one.

It seems I’m not travelling much slower than any one else. So you keep meeting the same people over and over.

It’s also nice to have a chat with people along the way.

Most people would pull up and say something like; “You’re keen!” or, “You’re crazy!” One man though, pulled up and just informed me about the condition of the track ahead, and I did the same for him. Like I was just another driver. I thought that little exchange of information was the most surreal conversation I’ve had on that road.

As I set off the next morning I figured I’d see them all again that night a mere 46km up the track. Not knowing that day was going to be one of the hardest I’d done.

A lot of sand, and no way I could ride my bike through it. I would sink straight in so instead I pushed.

Pushed through the sand,

and up some hills,

through the creeks.

Untill I reached the main drag again. It was not far to my destination, but when a lady in a car pulled over and invited me to her camp I wasn’t going to say no.

The work on these roads is never done. So a bunch of workers live in the camp where Mary (on the right) happens to be the cook :-)

Not far from their camp to the Twin Falls.

One of those glorious places along the way where you can have a dip without worrying a crocodile is going to chew your foot off.

Also the spot where I met a lovely couple from New Zealand who offered to carry some of my gear a little further North. This made the next few days a lot more enjoyable. I’ve never been an extreme lightweight freak, as you can tell from the amount of rubbish I drag around, and only in a place like this do I really notice the difference.

One big advantage of being on a pushbike, I don’t get bogged easily;

One of the most disastrous moments came up just as I crossed Nolans Creek.

The last Creek on this track and the reason why 62 cars this year didn’t make it home. It’s a little deep. Not a massive problem for me, and with some help of bystanders I got my gear across the other side dry in no time. Only then I realized there is actually a small bridge for motorbikes and bicycles. Oops.

But the disaster wasn’t in crossing this creek. It came with the realisation that I had run out of coffee, and still more than a day to go to Bamaga where I’d be able to stock up on supplies.

A few people were hanging around drying out their vehicles, most of them half drowned crossing this creek. I wandered up to Mark & Alex’s camp. And asked if they wouldn’t happen to have, by any chance. Some coffee. And imagine!

Not only did they indeed carry coffee, it was even proper real ground coffee.

Oh my luck… :-)

The next day, when I tried to get to the Jardine river ferry before they shut down for lunch, will go down in history as the day I did not meet up with Greame.

I met him last year on the Great Central Road.

And we both knew we were on the Cape and most likely to run into each other at some stage. It was not to be. This is what he wrote about us not meeting a 2nd time….

It was not far after the Jardine river ferry when I hit the bitumen. There is just under 30km of bitumen on the top of Australia,

and from here it’s only a hop-skip-jump to the tip…

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The River and the Rodeo

June 28, 2012

I managed to meet up with Cleve at the Bowen River Rodeo. He plays a  good tune on the squeezebox. It made for a few great nights in the historic Bowen River Hotel.

8km before the Bowen  River Hotel, Strathmore homestead lies on the left hand side.

It was there I first called in and was warmly welcomed by friends of Sally & Paul, the owners.

The beautiful old homestead has been a little neglected so there is a massive job in scraping off paint, sand-papering and repainting (so if anyone out there is interested, let me know and I’ll get you in touch with Paul & Sally)

When I told them about my plan of following the bicentennial trail along the Burdekin dam I was told this is impossible.

I don’t like these words. But the fact is that water flows over the dam and the road below. It makes trying to get across similar to suicide. Not a good idea. I was a little disappointed but I had the whole weekend to come up with a new idea (most likely to get back to Collinsville and follow the highway either on the coast, or inland)

I had decided to have a look at the rodeo now I got here.

I scraped a little paint of the old homestead together with Jed,

who’s been here doing this for 10 weeks! I got a blister on my hands after a few hours…. But Sally gave me a ticket for the rodeo and I got to borrow a swag to camp out on the grounds.

Not many use a tent here in Australia. A swag is the way to go. Especially on a rodeo. I have never quiet understood it, because you sleep open under the stars, wich is great untill a snake or spider crawls in with you… But the swag I borrowed had some mesh, so I didn’t have that problem.

Or so I thought.

Untill I crawled in early on the sunday morning and got a mean bite from some sort of spider. I never saw it, but it wasn’t a deadly one. So that’s lucky.

It did hurt for a while.

The morning it all started the cattle was taken from the yards at the homestead to the rodeo grounds, a tricky business. With so many people around it’s easy to spook them and have them running in the wrong direction. It did happen, but the cowboys soon had them under control again.

There was campdrafting.

A unique Australian sport where the rider has to control one beast out of a herd and run it through a course within a certain time.

Steer wrestling,

Rope and Tie,

Of course bull riding, the most dangerous of all rodeo events.

And Saddle Bronc riding.

I still think them guys are mad. But even kids as young as 6 are keen to give it a go, so there were bucking calves for the young ones.

Family and friends cheered from the side lines.

Not everybody made it to the grounds,

but everybody seemed to have a great time.

I gave my camera a proper workout (to see all my pictures of the Bowen River Rodeo click on this link)

When it was time to make tracks Paul mentioned he had rung Greg.

Greg & Anna live on a property just down the track. Right on the river. Greg could get me across in a tinny, Paul told me. I set off, but not before I was decked out with a 2 way radio, and the channels for the stations on the way (19, 21 & 29). He didn’t want me to get in any trouble and there is no cell phone reception out that way.

It didn’t take me long to cycle the track up to Strathalbyn. Where I spent a day looking around as Anna,

with her two year old on her lap and a rifle on the dashboard,

(can’t learn young enough, what do we do with the roo?…. “BANG!!!“)

showed me her backyard.

We visited the yards where her little men knew exactly what to do and how things worked.

They weren’t slightly fazed by walking through a pen with a big mean bull in it. Those big powerful animals still frighten me when I get to close…

Greg, James and Liam were busy branding,

dehorning and castrating young bulls.

In this case it pays to be female…

I though getting across the river in a tinny involved me riding down to the crocodile infested Burdekin river, throw my bicycle in the little boat, and go to the other side.

It was slightly more complicated.

To get to the boat we had to follow the banks for a while. The soft sand is very hard to push my bike through. Liam & Greg came up with the fabulous idea to put my bike on the quad.

It worked, I got across the river where a sign let me know there was no crossing.

But there was :-)

Across the river the landscape was totally different. From being in the scrub to manicured cane fields where Eric was just attending to his vegetable garden.

After moving to Australia from Italy in 1954 he found his way to this part of Queensland where he has been farming cane ever since. The farm is now run by his two sons and Eric and his wife moved into the new house recently, he told me. It was in 1976.

I met Harry a few months ago in New Zealand, where we kept bumping into each other since I go at about the same speed. (his Enfield keeps breaking down)

A text message told me he was in the area so we met up at the Imperial hotel in Ravenswood where the pizza was a million times better than the one we shared last time. You can see how he’s doing on his mission to get around the world on vegetable oil on his blog.

It wasn’t too late in the day I called into the Mingela pub for a coke before heading up the track to find a nice campspot. Over half the population of Mingela was gathered in the pub.

The population is 10.

Countless beers, stories and one marriage proposal later the sun had long gone down and I was offered a bed in Doug’s (70)  camper van.

In the morning a massive road train had pulled up for breakfast.

When I mentioned I’m on my way to Mount Isa he told me to Jump in! Very helpful, but I wasn’t looking for a lift. I’m going up the cape first and then ride my bike towards Mount Isa… He shook his head in disbelieve and went along his way. Another 12 hours at least for him to get there on the direct road. Another 2 months, at least, for me. (On a not so direct road)

I took a little detour of the trail to stop of in Greenvale to visit the three rivers hotel.

A song Stan Coster wrote, made famous by Slim Dusty. I was sad to find out this isn’t actually the place the song is written about. Still the beer tasted just as good.

Because of the detour I had to get across the Burdekin river again.

But this far inland it’s a lot smaller. And there are no crocodiles. I was told.

It didn’t go as smooth as I had planned.

I tried to push my bike through, not counting on the really sharp rocks on the bottom cutting into my feet. Not counting on the river being a little deeper, and the current being a little faster than it looked like from the side.

I got about halfway when the bike got stuck against a rock with water flowing strong on both sides.

I was shaking with the effort it took me to keep it all upright. I considered my options.

It was not all too likely any traffic was going to come through any time soon so I decided to push through and hope I got to the other side.

The current picked up my bike immediately and as I held on tight we all went a few meters down the stream. By this stage I didn’t care everything got wet. I just didn’t want to let go and see all my gear disappear.

I struggled to pull the lot up the other side and miraculously my camera stayed dry this time. Everything else was soaking though so I waited for the sun to dry things out while I sat down for an hour or two.

Not too long after I was overtaken by a car, Mel just got home from work and offered me to chuck my gear in her dryer for a little while.

With a job in town, and three kids she is a busy lady. This is Tara, her youngest.

 They live in a gorgeous spot on the hill overlooking the lagoon. A great spot except when you get a cyclone coming over, as happened last year when they had to sit through cyclone Yasi in the bathroom. It took three days before anybody could get through to them and Mick, Mel’s husband is still busy clearing up trees and broken fences.

Before I rode off they warned me that I will have to cross the Burdikan one more time.

Not to keen on repeating my ordeal I took all my gear off the bike and carried it across piece by piece. The crossing was nowhere near as hard as the first one. There was no current to speak off.

Mel mention she would give the next property a ring, letting them know I was on my way. I didn’t know how far it was. But just as the sun set I noticed a house through the trees.

Ben was there all by himself. He looks after the place while the owners are away.

Ben likes dirt bikes and pig hunting.

He also cooks up a pretty good feed which was lucky for me.

I got back into hillier terrain as I got further up the track.

Just as the sun was setting and I tried peddling hard to get to the crater lake I’ve been told about, a man at a gate asked how I was going. “Slowly!” Is my usual reply. As it turned out Graham has been living happily on a hill with a view and his horses for many years. Back in the day he was a jockey,

But after breaking just about every bone in his body after a massive fall he’s happy training racehorses on his property here on the tablelands.

He also makes a mean curry :-)

I admired some giant trees on the way into town.

The longest downhill ride I’ve had in Australia took me to the bright lights of Cairns.

Where they must’ve been expecting me…

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Summertime, And the livin’ is easy

January 9, 2012

If you have to take a shower, you might as well share it.

With 100 frogs.

You never know I figured.

No luck so far. But there’s many more to go.

And I have to admit, I rather be kept company by these little creatures where the most dangerous side-effect might be a salmonella-infection, than this monster.

A Mulga snake, I stumbled across just outside my bedroom door at Byro-Station. Not the friendliest. This King Brown is actually a black snake (just to keep things confusing), and fairly deadly. Lucky Andrew got to him first so no need to worry. It only cost him a pool-cue.

I came up for a visit to the station for new-years and summer. With 40+ degrees and copious amounts of alcohol both a success.

Can’t believe it’s over two years since I came through on my pushbike.

Can’t believe I’m still here now.

In the mean-time Lynne & Andrew got married and had a baby girl.

I got a new bicycle and rode around the country. A lot easier, I’m sure :-)

But my new bicycle has been parked up for a few weeks because I had people to see and places to go. It happens when you stick around one place too long. It (almost) starts feeling like home.

So I better get outta here in a hurry. And I will!

Well, not a major hurry.

But I will!

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