Around Australia on a Bolwell ScooterPart 4I was riding into a headwind. There was heavy traffic going south - the start of both a weekend and the Queensland school holidays. I was relieved when at last I reached the turn-off to the Flinders Highway on the outskirts of Townsville. Gypsy perked up immediately with the change in wind direction. I had mixed emotions. Thousands of kilometres still to go, but turning west, saying farewell to the eastern coast of Australia, made me realize I was on the 'home stretch'. A long stretch, for sure, but I was leaving so many sights unseen, so many places unvisited - missed due to climatic conditions, or the impossibility of reaching on a small scooter due to road conditions, or simply because of choosing route A over route B. I resolved to return one day. After shouting aloud, "See ya, east Aussie" I started singing a very bad rendition of Willie Nelson's 'On The Road Again'. Gypsy and I headed into the late afternoon sun, Wyn and her trusty steed, braving the wide-open spaces in true Western movie tradition. All it needed was John Wayne or Clint Eastwood to come galloping by. All that came 'galloping by' was a cattle road train. I was very quickly brought back to reality! Scooting westward Four days after turning west I arrived at Cloncurry. I'd run out of food. Being late on a Sunday afternoon I had no hope of finding anything open in the two streets that comprise Cloncurry's town centre. On the outskirts of the town I spotted a caravan park on my left and pulled in. The park owner and his son were busy preparing potato pancakes for a communal barbeque that evening. The sign announcing the barbeque advised people to book and pay before 10 that morning. I asked if I was too late for inclusion. "No, of course not, bring your plate, cutlery and mug at 6.30 and we'll look after you." I took money out of my pocket. "Oh, no, you're our guest. Anyone doing what you are deserves a treat!" When I later joined the queue with my plate I was told 'that is far too small, you need a decent dinner', and they loaded up one of their own plates with two large potato cakes, a huge serving of salad and two generous pieces of barbequed fish - barramundi (my first) and delicious. I had to eat every morsel with obvious relish. I have not felt so bloated for years! On the way to Cloncurry I stopped at a roadhouse one morning, having decided to treat myself to a bacon and egg meal. I parked Gypsy, removed my helmet and looked up into the back of a dusty ute, which had just arrived. Hanging on a rack were two very large, very dead and rather bloody bush pigs! I ordered vegemite and toast for breakfast. The road from Mt.Isa to Camooweal is the worst I have encountered on this journey. At times it was like being on a roller coaster ride. When I thought of the money being expended on maintaining the existing, and creating new, roads along coastal Queensland it made me wonder about priorities - and politics. It was a relief to reach the Northern Territory border. The highway improved immediately.
The trip from Camooweal to Barkly Homestead is the longest, most isolated stretch of road I'd yet travelled on. Having bought an additional 4.5 litre jerry can in Mt. Isa (which then gave me a minimum of 360kms capacity - 5 litres in tank plus the two jerry cans) I was in no danger of running out of fuel. From Threeways on the Stuart Highway I turned south and stopped at Tennant Creek for the night. That evening I spent a delightful couple of hours drinking billy-tea and listening to a local bush poet. He was immensely entertaining. En route to Alice I spotted a dog near the roadside ahead. I'd been chased by dogs on a couple of occasions and found the experience very unnerving. I slowed right down. Suddenly the 'dog' shot across the road almost in front of me and disappeared into the scrub on the other side. It was a dingo! I was thrilled. In Alice it was so cold that on more than one morning I awoke to ice on my tent. It was even colder at Yulara Resort (Uluru), where it was minus 4 two nights running. I slept in thermals, t-shirt, fleecy top, 2 prs. socks, beanie and gloves. I felt like the Michelin Man! As I was riding west towards Yulara on the Lasseter Highway, I kept glancing at the odometer. Slowly it turned over to read 20,000km. I looked up and there in the distance ahead was Uluru! A magic moment. A moment I revisited in my mind when I eventually reached 'the Rock' and saw what I regarded as a circus. The parking lot was full - coaches, campervans, motor homes, cars, a couple of bicycles - and a bright orange scooter. In spite of signs advising the Aboriginal traditional owners prefer that people not climb Uluru (it has special cultural and spiritual significance to them), there was a long line of climbers. I could see why the local Aboriginal name for climbers is 'minga' mob - minga means ant. I watched a couple of guys hollering and yahooing their way down. At the bottom they gave each other high fives, still whooping, then got in their van and left. I asked a group of young people (mostly from overseas), who were about to undertake the climb, whether they had, in fact, seen and read the sign. Their replies: nothing to do with us; we're not religious; just a challenge to us; it's what you 'do' when at Ayer's Rock. There is a 9km walk around Uluru. On the way round I saw people taking photos in areas where signs quite clearly state 'sacred men's (or women's) place NO PHOTOS.' I passed a young man power walking along the path, eyes straight-ahead, portable CD player firmly plugged into his ears. I wondered why some people bother to leave their homes, to travel great distances, to 'been there, done that!' The following day I went to Kata Tjata. Though there were also numerous tour groups visiting it wasn't such a spectacle. It was possible to enjoy the ambience of the place. By the fifth day after leaving Ulura and riding north the weather was definitely improving. By time I reached Katherine my thermals had once again been relegated to the bottom of the bag. The terrain was changing. Stark desert gave way to savannah, which in turn became more and more tropical. The air smelt different. At last I reached Darwin.
Three evenings later I visited the famous Mindil markets, at the beach of the same name. The food stalls gave out the most delicious aromas and I more than made up for the past few days enforced 'diet'. As I was enjoying a spicy Sri Lankan curry a woman approached me. "Are you riding around Australia on a scooter?" She'd seen me on TV in Rockhampton! I was impressed by her good memory. Darwin Scooter Hire, run by an ever-smiling Darren, serviced Gypsy. The local newspaper interviewed me. By then I had moved out of the caravan park and into a room with fan at the YWCA, in town. I thought it'd aid recuperation to be away from the sand flies, the humidity and the lack of sound sleep due to traffic noise on the highway not 500m from my tent site. Besides, I felt I deserved a bit of 'luxury' after six months of living in a small tent. I'd been in e-mail contact with Neil, who was planning to ride a scooter, larger than mine, around the country. (I'd met him when surfing the net prior to leaving home). We caught up with each other in Darwin. Neil had purchased a second-hand machine (a well-known Italian make) in Sydney but had unfortunately only got as far as Mt.Isa before it died. He was continuing his journey by bus. When in Townsville he'd called into Rising Sun and when he mentioned his plan of riding right around Australia he was told: you're too late, mate, there's a 60yr old woman already doing that, ahead of you! We met a few times for coffee and decided to visit Kakadu together. Neil hired a car and we loaded our tents and groceries and took off. I really missed Gypsy and felt almost claustrophobic in the confines of the car. It also felt alarmingly fast! I loved Kakadu in spite of the numerous sour comments I'd heard, including 'Kaka-don't. We walked around billabongs, climbed the escarpment to view the floodplain and watch the sunset, saw ancient Aboriginal rock paintings and I went for a boat ride on the East Alligator River. I stopped counting saltwater crocodiles at 20! Each evening at the campground there was a slide show to watch and, later, nature's sky show. Beautiful. Too soon it was time to leave. Back in Darwin I collected Gypsy from friends of Neil's who had 'bike-sat'. Having already spent 10 days in Darwin prior to going to Kakadu I stopped just long enough to enjoy another delicious Asian meal. Two days later I arrived at Nitmiluk (Katherine Gorge), my home for the next couple of days. Wallabies grazed the grassed camping area at night while bats flew overhead. I spent hours sitting in the dark, at my tent entrance, watching them. Leaving Katherine I turned west onto the Victoria Highway. 513kms and two days riding brought me to Kununurra in my home state, Western Australia. There is a one and a half hour time change at the border but, as Kununurra is so far northeast, it's more in sync with Territory time. It was rather disconcerting, when the sky had darkened into night, to find it was only 5.30! Once again I was caught with little in the way of food supplies. This time no friendly caravan park operator came to my rescue. I had a bowl of porridge and settled into my tent for a much needed early night. |
