|
|
 |
 |
 |
 |
Free Wheelin - August 2002 |
|
This aint no holiday...
Thursday 1st August - Sunday 4th August 2002 - Secluded Springs
Apart from Friday when I finished repairing the septic tank run off, my days were spent dosing around the camp, drinking a few beers and having a laugh. It's quite interesting hanging around with nothing much to do except get to know the other travellers that come and go. The main body here have been in the cabin for three months others only a few weeks and even more who only spend a few days. Their backgrounds different in all sorts of ways however, there are a couple of similarities.
Travelling in this fashion, cycling, backpacking, is a multi-cultural experience where you meet people from all walks of life and from all corners of the globe. Theres a wide mix of nationallities, Scottish, Irish, English and Welsh, they come from China, America, Israel, Denmark, France, Germany, Thailand and South America. All nationalities traipsing around the world, each with their own ecconomic and political backgrounds, some come from repressed war torn environments, others from just poor farming or rural areas, but all with the same excitement, fears and enthusiasms as they trudge through their various itineries. I have never yet heard the camp fire talk turning to agression or the plight of individual countries, of the war and misunderstandings in the various home countries. Yes there are discusions and questions are asked in varying degrees of broken english, but the tone has always been one of respect, a calm, non-judgemental learning circle, where all parties listen with interest and consume an endless amount of worldly understanding.
My last few days at Secluded springs, Glen (Irish) had been trying to catch Cray fish in the dam for a week with no success. The sun had just sunk behind the horizon and I suggested we go and catch some fish for tea. Glen and I under the cover of darkness grabbed the cray net and went through the bush to where Glen, Secluded Springs owner, had a hidden Cray farm. It wasn't so well hidden, we knew where it was, opening the gate we were confronted by Dolly the sheep guarding the farm, for a sheep and a guard at that, Dolly was very friendly and followed Glen and I as we looked for a good place to sink the net. The farm was a set of three dams surrounded by a fence, the lower section of the fence was made of corrugated iron, this was in place to stop the cray's from venturing out in search of a new home. Finding a suitable place, we planted the net, hiding the rope in the long undergrowth until we came back the following evening.
We had been visiting the Germans at Glen's other cabin on his parents property which was a two kilometre walk through the bush. It was dark when we left to go to the cabin, I didn't have a cue where we were going, I just followed the croud. At the cabin, Martin and Aundre had started the fire and were already sipping on beer. We sat down and watched the glow from the fire, the conversation was slow and lethargic, a total contrast to the camp fire at our own cabin. As we sat mumbling about nothing, Aundre passed around a marijuana joint, everyone is at it, there is no escape. Every campsite, every backpackers has a big majority of grass smokers.
The joint finally came to me, I passed it on, sacrilege, no! they all exclaimed, you can't break the circle, it's bad luck. I didn't really care about the bad luck superstition and anyway I reckon they just said it to encourage me to have a few puffs. For no other reason than the fact that I was enjoying the company, feeling quite relaxed, the sweet smell of the drug already in the air, I was already smoking the stuff passively anyway, I took a couple of small drags on the cigarette. Imediately, I felt a warm glow course through my whole body - and so the night drags on.....
On the way back to camp somewhat drunk and stoned or was it stoned and drunk, who knows and at the time who cared. It took us about three hours stopping regularily while Jason gave us a comical shadow puppet show. As we passed the dam where Glen and I planted the cray fish net, we all marched into the fenced off area to check the net. Excitedly we pulled on the rope dragging the net to the bank, the light from my torch flicking over the surface of the dark water. With anticipation, we all huddled together peering into the water, in unison we all shouted, "we've got some". In the net there was five huge cray's, all of them at least six inches long.
Our pace quickened as we hurried back to camp with our catch. The others didn't have a clue how to cook our catch, they didn't even want to touch them and after the usual obligatory chasing around the room trying to pinch each other we started to boil the water. We cooked all five crustaceans and sat for a while chatting before eventually in the wee small hours, crashing out.
Monday 5th August 2002 - Destination, South Kolan - Distance Cycled, 49km
It was a late start because I wasn't sure whether I was moving on or not, you know, the usual argument, should I stay and say cheerio to the guys and gals at the cabin, should I wait and get a lift to Bundaberg after all I have already cycled that road and finally, should I just stay one more night and get a comfortable bed before moving on - Yvonne was leaving today, I could move intoher empty bed. I pottered about tidying my tent and packing things away, I knew I would be moving on soon. As I packed and brought the tent down, I loaded the bike, it was twelve o'clock, I paced the grounds until Yvonne offered me a coffee. I sat down and Yvonne asked when I was going, I just said, 'now', we took a few photographs and I was off.
I stopped at the houseto say farewell to Glen and he asked where I was heading, I said Gin Gin which was seventy eight kilometres via Bundaberg. Glen said he knew of a short cut, now normally, I would just stick to the road that I knew would take me to my destination but, on this occasion and, as it was getting late in the day I listened as he told me the shortcut which, would shave thirty kilometres of my journey.
His instrctions seemed simple, "Go out to the main road, head for Bundaberg for about nine kilometres and turn left at Cedar Road, at the T junction turn right, at the cross roads there will be a pub diagonally opposite, turn left and it is only twenty kilometres to Gin Gin"
I followed Glens instructions and was doing great, with reasonable ease I covered twenty kilometres an hour, I was going great, I felt great and hardly bothered to stop at all, well, until I reached the twenty six kilometre mark and the road turned from bitumen to gravel. I stopped to make sure I was on the right road, the map I had didn't show this road, I knocked on the door of a large house, the dog in the back yard, luckily fenced in, welcomed me with an angry growl. I stood patiently for some one to answer the door, there had to be someone home, there was two very posh looking four wheel drives in the driveway. Eventually a short stumpy looking guy came to the door, his first words, "G'day, are you lost". "Well I hope not, I replied, am I on the right road for Gin Gin?" While I spoke, I had the feeling there was something wrong, this guy smiled at me with an air of amusement. Shaking his head, he said, NO, you need to go back eleven kilometres and take the South Bingara Road. I was not chuffed, not because I had cycled twenty six kilometres on the wrong road, but because I would now have to go back eleven kilometres and take another road, in a head wind!
I about turned feeling a bit frustrated, none the less I pushed on back down the road I had just travelled. The road was quiet and snaked its way through some pretty awesome bushland splashed with a patch work of sugar cane and banana plantations. For twenty-six kilometres, I cycled along a quiet back road dotted with the odd house on either side of the road.
I finally found the road that I should have been on, and after covering just over forty kilometres, the road was getting hilly and the heat from the sun was beginning to wear me out. I kept going, it was three forty five and time to lookout for a campsite. As I reached the cross roads that Glen had mentioned, I saw a very welcome site, a motel/pub, I knew I wouldn't be able to get to Gin Gin before dark so I thought I would ask if I could camp in the motel grounds. Approaching the bar on the veranda I was welcomed by Chris, he seemed quite young but was friendly and very helpful, well the fact that I was paying two dollars and five cents for my beer, I would expect him to be friendly. My plan was to ask if I could pitch my tent in the Motel grounds but instead I asked how much their accommodation was. It was only thirty dollars for the night including toast and cereal for breakfast. I know, I have just been given a loan of two hundred dollars and my earnings for the past week was only two hundred and fifty dollars, but I was tired and felt like a good nights sleep in a real bed.
I was introduced to Marion who had a great happy smile, as opposed to a false oh, hello there smile. She was petit, enthusiastic and to some extent, overly helpful. I was being put into room one, Marion was so apologetic that the room wasn't quite ready, I assured her that it was okay, I had plenty of time. When I finally got into the room, two small beers and half an hour later, it was well worth the thirty dollars. In the room there was a double and a single bed with 'unusually' plenty of room to walk around. There was a long built in dresser which had a television, a radio and a fridge placed on top, there was still plenty of room for me to sit at the dresser and do my journal comfortably. Going further into the room there was an on suite shower and toilet, a large hand basin and a double wardrobe which housed the tea and coffee, a toaster and the usual assortment of crockery.
Tuesday 6th August 2002 - Destination, Bush camp - Distance cycled, 90 km
At around six fifteen, I didn't feel to great, and no, it was nothing to do with drinking beer last night, I only had a couple. I felt tight and really slow, it took me an hour to motivate myself, I didn't feel good about the day ahead. I wasn't wrong, it was cold out side, even though I wore my cycling jacket, I felt the chill go right through me as I headed east towards Gin Gin. I had just over twenty kilometres to go before reaching Gin Gin my destination for breakfast.
Going on yesterdays performance I estmated it would only take me just over an hour to get there. I just couldn't get going, again I had to stop every five minutes to take a breather, yet the road didn't seem too bad, yes it rolled on up and down through the curved landscape but it was no different from yesterday. I reached the ten kilometre mark and had to get off the bike to push it up a hill, I didn't feel good at all. Then, all of a sudden, there was no warning, I felt sick, my stomach churning, it tightened and I was violently sick, I walked another few paces and I felt a sharp pain in my stomach, againI threw up. I had to sit down but pushed on until I reached the top of the hill. I sat for a few minutes and had an orange and a tomato, maybe I needed some sustenance.
I was only half way to Gin Gin and didn't think I would make it the rest of the way, I really wanted to stop, but being my stubborn self, I wouldn't allow myself to give in, I kept going. It took me two hours and fifteen minutes to go twenty three kilometres, I was knackered and contemplated staying there for the night, it was only half past nine in the morning. In stead, I paid eleven dollars for a large cooked breakfast and sat for an hour before attempting the next part of the journey.
The day didn't get any better, the road I travelled was tough, with every up hill a struggle, but my stomach settled and at least I didn't have to make any more emergency stops. The sun was sinking rapidly, I had been on the road for nine and a half hours and as I came to a bend in the road, I felt happy that I may just make my destination, I had only five kilometres to go. Turning the bend, I stopped, there was a huge hill to climb, I was exhausted, I didn't want another hill, I just couldn't face it, I gave in and found a clearing in the bush.
I was so tired that I couldn't even be bothered cooking anything for tea, I just opened a tin of beans and had them cold. Darkness falls pretty rapidly here, there's no twilight, the sun is there one minute and gone the next. I put my light on and tried to finish the book I was reading but the energy just wasn't there and at six thirty I fell asleep. Wednesday 7th August 2002 - Destination, Bororen - Distance cycled, 53km
I had a very restless night, there was a few factors here, for one my thermarest has lost it's comfort, it got wet on the way to Sydney and was put out in the sun to dry and dry it did, but it also caused a blister, now the thermarest doesn't inflate properly, I'm not getting any comfort from it. Also on the way to Sydney, the zip on the main entrance to the tent, gave up, the inside door just wouldn't zip up so, I've had it stitched closed. Now the outside zip on the other entrance doesn't close, the zip has also gone, now the cold and damp gets into the tent. While I am experiencing twenty five degrees during the day, the night gets icy cold and very damp.
As six o'clock arrived, I got up and started packing, I couldn't have my usual oats for breakfast, I had no water to mix the powdered milk with, my breakfast consisted of one raw carrot and a sip of water. My sleeping bag was dripping from the damp air, still, I packed it away, I would wash it at the next stop. At seven thirty I was on the road, starting with a down hill, I felt the chilled morning air as I took a deep breath, my fingers quickly turning to ice, my ears burning as the wind whistled passed. The down hill was short lived, I felt reasonable and managed the first up hill with ease. The next rest area was less than five kilometres away, I pulled in praying that they had drinking water. Nestled among blue and red gums, the rest area was large with several sheltered areas with tables and chairs, to my relief each shelter had its own rain water tank. As I filled my bottles I watched other holiday makers as they emerged from their respective, warm and cosy looking campervans, I felt envious.
Pulling back onto the Bruce Highway, my thirst fully quenched, I pushed on towards Miriam Vale some thirty odd kilometres further north. The roads still like a roller coaster, it didn't take me long to feel tired. I cursed the bike, checking the chain was properly oiled, that the brakes were not rubbing and that there was enough pressure in the tyres, everything was okay, I guess it was down to me.
It's quite interesting how the different road surfaces affect how easy or hard the cycling is, if the road is newly surfaced with loose gravel, then the cycling becomes harder as the tyres get more contact with the ground but as I moved onto an older stretch of road, the smooth surface would let me glide along with very little effort. The road I travelled on was hot, bumpy, hilly and my tyres felt like they were sticking to the surface, I was not having fun.
It took me three hours to go the thirty nine kilometres to Miriam Vale, I was exhausted. Even though I had stopped at a petrol station just thirteen kilometres outside Miriam Vale to have some brunch. Even though the last thirteen kilometres were flat and quite fast, I pulled into the wee hamlet, bought myself some fruit and sat down in the park, put my feet up and relaxed. I was so tired I could hardly raise a smile. A woman who had just driven up in her Shogun towing a caravan, came up to me and asked how the cycling was going, she said that she used to do a lot of cycling but 'that was in a previous life'. I tried to sound enthusiastic but I just couldn't do it, normally I would get into a lively conversation about the where's and when's of her cycling but, I just had no energy. Normally after an amount of exertion, you sit down and within a few minutes you feel refreshed and happy that your efforts have been worth while, I sat for an hour and didn't really want to move again.
However, I have a destination and the only way to get there is to push on and that's what I did, for another fifteen kilometres, then I gave in, I was exhausted. It was a strange exhaustion, my legs, that were doing all the work, felt fine, my head that done all the motivational pushing and encouraging felt great. It was in my chest, I didn't have the heart to go any further. My arms, my back and my shoulders felt sore, aching and tired. Was it the lack of good sleep, was it the uncomfortable arrangement in the tent or was I just worn out? I kept asking those questions. I didn't want to think it was anything physical, something that couldn't be over come. I didn't want to think of kidney failure, it couldn't be, I told myself that the cycling and the continuous perspiration, bucket loads, would take the pressure off my kidney, the impurities in the body being excreted through my pores with the sweat as it dripped to the ground, I just wouldn't believe it. Was I just pushing too hard, am I carrying too much weight on the bike?
I booked into a caravan at the Bororen Caravan Park, a caravan that I couldn't afford, I was exhausted, it was only one in the afternoon. The caravan with its annex was quite large, with a double room, a fully fitted kitchen and a lounge area, it cost twenty seven dollars, I felt guilty. I said that this leg of the journey would be bush camping only and so far in twenty two days I have bush camped once. I wheeled the bike into the annex and stepped into the caravan, plonked myself heavily onto the bed and fell asleep for two hours.
Normally, as I mentioned earlier, you would expect to recover very quick from your exertions, after two hours sleeping I woke up, my head bouncing and my pulse still racing. At first I thought that maybe I hadn't drunk enough water, but I had downed two litres during the last fifteen kilometres and I had a bottle of water by the bed which I sipped from regularly, I still had no energy.
I unloaded the bike and went for a hot shower thinking this would help refresh and revitalise me, it didn't. I went to the local stored and bought a few things for tea and started cooking. There was no life in my actions, just an automatic "I have to eat something". I prepared myself a double helping of noodles and forced myself to eat, I managed half. I unpacked some of my gear and went to bed, it was six thirty.
Thursday 8th 2002 - Day off
I awoke at six, it was just getting light, I should get up and prepare for the day ahead. I didn't, I turned over and went back to sleep for a couple of hours. I slept reasonably comfortable, waking up just a couple of times during the long night. I should feel totally refreshed and eager to push on; it just wasn't there. I got up around eight thirty and had a porridge breakfast and went for a shower. I sat in the shower for over an hour, the hot water stinging my skin, I took deep breaths of warm steam in the hope that some how I would feel alive, It didn't happen.
I went back to the caravan and once again started packing 'lethargically' I made up my mind that I would lighten my load and throw away any piece of clothing that I hadn't worn for a week, I also decided that I didn't have to carry as much food.
Looking at my gear, I couldn't really throw any clothes away, I didn't have any, the clothes I have are the one's I brought from the UK apart from a 'T-shirt and a pair of light shorts. However, on principle and because I was looking for an excuse for my slow progress, I threw away a pair of shorts and a 'T-shirt. I also decided that one days supply of food was enough, comming across the Nullarbor I could see the need for carrying lots of supplies but here I would pass a town every day. I disposed of a bag of rice, pasta and some other small condiments, in all I probably lightened my load by two an a half kilo's. I would dearly love to loose the tent or at least change it for a much lighter one, the tent weighs about three kilo's, I know I can get a good bivie bag that weighs only nine hundred grams. Lightening my load made me feel as if I was at least trying to do something positive to help me achieve my aim, whether it would help or not I don't know, I would soon find out.
Slowly as I re-packed my panniers, I also tried to prepare myself psychologically, I whistled a few tunes, I tried singing a few up tempo tunes, not too loud, I didn't want to annoy the neighbours. At nine thirty I went to the site office and paid for another day. Another twenty seven dollars that I just can't afford, but then again, can I afford to go on in my present state of exhaustion. It was decided that I would stay and relax for another day.
Bororen was a pretty insignificant wee place, the small main street sat on the edge of the busy Bruce Highway, the traffic passing by without even noticing the place. The few people that did stop invariably only parked up to use the local conviniences which were situated on the opposite side of the highway, some even stayed long enough to make a cup of tea in their caravans, never venturing across the road to the village. At the southern end of the town was the Bororen caravan park at the north end, only about one hundred metres up the road was the local bar. A friendly, warm place built of wood, there was two solid wood tables made from a single slice of tree trunk which must have been a couple of hundred years old. All the furniture was sollid wood, the bar the bench seats on the veranda, the tables and chairs in the dining room. At the bar when I first walked in were six rough looking cowboys, I say rough in the rugged sence not the aggressive sence, all of them had their well worn ackubra hats proudly sitting on top of their heads, all with dirty boots and well worked jeans. If the bar didn't look so new and clean, you could have transported yourself back a hundred years, all that was missing were the horses tied outside.
It was a comforting scene, one where you new you were among friendly people, people who had respect for each other, people who at the same time would let you know when you were over stepping the mark. The banter was strong but casual, hard but soft. One of the guy's here could only have been sixteen or seventeen he was a huge stocky guy, not fat but firm, his hands were like shovels, these guys worked hard and played hard. They were law abiding but lived mainly by the rule of the outback where after their afternoon of swilling beer they would head back to work, return to the bar at five o'clock then get in their cars/ute's and drive home.
I've just met Harld and Malte from Germany, they are cycling from Darwin to Sydney. I may not be doing as bad as I thought, they were also exhausted, they say the road ahead is pretty flat but for them, they had a head wind. Harld, the father, was red in the face, you could see his exhaustion. Maybe I am being a little hard on myself, maybe this stetch of road is tough, maybe tomorrow when I hit the road I will be like the breaze that stirs the dust on the highway, maybe I shouldn't be so harsh on myself, maybe I shouldn't throw away any of the little clothes I have and maybe I should keep the rice and pasta.
I invited the two father and son cyclists back to the caravan for a coffee, I could see their faces light up at the prospect of a comfortable seat and a coffee with orange choc chip biscuts. Discussing both the road ahead and the road behind, I felt for them as they headed south but I, selfishly, was elated to hear that I had a reasonably flat road with tail winds ahead of me, I even smiled when they said that there was a stretch of road from Rockhampton that was boring. Boring or not, it was better than struggling up hills.
t was after three when they left, I felt better inside, I made myself a vegetable stew with paprika, garlic and crushed salted peanuts, thickened with mash potato and onion. I sat down to tea happy that I had made the decision to stop at the caravan park , happy that I was able to invite two very tired cyclists in for a coffee, even though I couldn't really afford it.
It's tough work trying to keep yourself motivated day in day out, you have nothing or no one to compare your performance by, there's just you on your lonely struggle. Harld on the other hand quite rightly explained how the father and son,or any couple cycling together helped keep each other motivated and encouraged. While one brought up the rear, the other set the pace, the two of them taking turns to lead. He explained how Malte would race up the hills and that he 'Harld' would try and keep up making the whole struggle fun.
Friday 9th August 2002 - Destination, Rockhampton - Distance Cycled, 163km
I really don't know what all the fuss was about, though I was a bit apprehensive about the day ahead, I was up early, five thirty, had breakfast finished packing and was on the road by six fifty. I stood astride my bicycle for a few minutes psyching myself up, what would this day bring, I hope Harld was right when he said the road was flat, I took a deap breath and was off. The road was already quite busy, the guy from the local grocery store was setting up his display, he gave me a wave as I picked up speed, I was on my way.
To my astonishmennt and delight, I still had a tail wind and, the road was relatively flat, my first hour saw me doing an average of twenty three kilometres an hour, I was ecstatic. The thought going through my head was, 'can I keep it up, will it last? By nine o'clock I had covered forty kilometres, the road did have hills but nowhere near as heavy as my previous few days, I was back. I felt confident that the only problem I had over the past week was too many hills. At sixty kilometres as I approached the Gladstone interchange the road got bouncier and for the next thirty odd kilometres it didn't change much but I managed to keep the momentum. By eleven thirty I had covered eighty kilometres, yes, I was tired but the adrenelin was pumping, I haven't managed to cover that many kilometres in four and a half hours for ages. I stopped at Mt Larcom, it was time for lunch and a well earned rest. I prepared for the day ahead by making my lunch in advance, ten sandwiches and a flask of tea, I was getting back to the proper balance of eating a sandwich every hour or hour and a half.
The rest of the day went quite well, the road was fast, I achieved an average speed of 22km/h. By two thirty I had covered one hundred and twenty five kilometres, I was resting at the petrol station in Marmor, I thought that I had done enough for the day and should stop soon. Once again I pushed on towards Rockhampton in the hope that I would find a suitable bush camp, I needed to conserve the little money I had, I know, I could conserve it by staying out of pubs and expensive caravans - but you need to be happy in your travelling too.....
The short of the story is that while the road was reasonably flat I kept going. I looked on either side of the highway but there were no suitable rest areas, the area was too flat, there was no shade or adequate trees to shield me from passing cars etc. There was one caravan/campsite about ten kilometres south of Rocky, I stopped and thought about it, it looked like a collection of old caravans in a dump yard, there were two big Dobermans barking and jumping at the fence of their enclosure looking to rip my throat out. It had to be cheap I told myself, but stood at the entrance hesitating. Finaly I pushed my bike up the drive, the whole place looked seedy and decidedly dodgy. I went to the office which was dark, alI could see was a small dog staring at me, I knocked on the door and gladly got no reply, not that I hung around too long waiting waiting for a reply, I jumped on the bike and was off.
Before I knews it, I was turning into Rockhampton and after a hundred and sixty three kilometres I was finished. I stopped at the first campsite I found, funnily enough, I said to myself as I cycled up the drive, that I shouldn't pick the first campsite I see. The site was laid out really well, landscaped with columns of giant palm trees and plenty of shade, there was a swimming pool and a tv room which resembled something out of cell block H. In the room were a couple of plastic chairs, a plant which was pad locked to the wall and a tv securely bolted to the other wall. However I wasn't here to watch tv, I needed food and a good rest. In the camp area there was electric barbeque 'at twenty cents a minute' and plenty of shaded tables and benches. There was only room for about six tents, the rest of the park was taken up by cabins, forty eight dollars a night and caravans not much cheaper.
I pitched my tent which cost fifteen dollars and headed to the camp kitchen, it was busy with other campers chatting and preparing their dinner. The kitchen itself was clean and reasonably catered for, well until I looked closer, there were no pots or pans, no crockery and no cutlery, no utencils of any sort. There was two microwaves, four electric hobs and two toasters, but NO kettle. All the appliances, which shocked me and my fellow travelers, were linked to coin boxes, you had to insert twenty cents to make a slice of toast. It cost me forty cents to boil water for a cup of tea, I would have been cheaper going across the road to a cafe. None of the campers I spoke to were happy, but then it didn't matter, they were just passing through and would probably never be back here. While the site looked nice, I felt that the owners were just profiteering, no, ripping tourists off.
Saturday 10th August 2002 - Destination Marlborough - Distance Cycled 114km
Sunday 11th August 2002 Destination Clairview - Distance Cycled 110km
I wasn't going to move on today, I had planned a day off, however, the thought of paying another twenty five dollars for a night frightened me, I was again running out of money. I do realise that there a few things I could manage without, for one, caravans, I brought my own tent and have used it considerably on the journey so far but it seems that my own body is automaticaly pushing me towards comfort, paying the extra few dollars and not having to set up tent or unpack all my bags helps make the next days cycling easier. Secondly, beer, enjoying a few beers with the locals, I could do with out that and save about forty dollars a week, but what would be the reason for the trip if you are not sitting with a few of the local red necks swilling stubbies of beer, me telling my story and them theirs. What could I possibly gain from cycling across Australia if I can't communicate with the residents on their home patch, the bar. I am already quite tight with the money, there isn't much more I could cut back on, I don't have any fancy meals, sticking to pastas and noodles, I don't by sweets or lollies apart from carrying a bag of boild sugar sweets in my handlebar bag, I resist the temptation.
No, there is not a lot I can cut back on and for the sake of enjoying the trip, I will continue to enjoy the small amount of resourses I have, in any way I see fit and hope that at the end of the day I manage to accumulate enough money to keep me going.
I felt tired, my legs heavy as soon as I pushed the bike out onto the highway but I had made my move, I was aiming for Clairview some one hundred kilometres up the road and nestled on the beach. A bit of salt air and a swim after days of dry dusty out crops, would help revive me, give me a change of scene. Just before leaving camp, I was reminded by an old couple towing a caravan that I would have a cross wind today. Depending on the strength of the wind my ride could be easy or trecherous, tail winds are great for obvious reasons, they help push you along at a good speed with less effort. Cross winds, as I have experienced in the past, can be a real challenge, trying to keep safe on the road, if they blow from the left, as I head north, the cross wind pushes me onto the road, if they blow from my right, I get blown onto the verge which invariably goes down hill into the bush, either way I have to struggle to keep the bike straight, its almost worse than a head wind, but not quite. While cross winds buffer you from side to side making you very unsteady on the bike, with a head wind every kilometre seems to take hours as you are slowed to snail pace.
Today as I pulled out onto the Bruce Highway I was pleased to have only a slight cross wind comeing from the south east, my right. It was nine fortyfive and getting warm, the sun pushing it's rays through the fluffy white clouds above. I imediately got my speed up to twenty three kilometres an hour and sailed along comfortably, it didn't take long for my tired legs to warm up and get used to their daily task. I managed to keep the pace for a couple of hours, stopping now and again for a breather, by eleven o'clock I had covered forty kilometres, then as the road turned on it's course towards the coast, the wind changed from a cross wind to more of a head wind and seemed to get stronger, the pace slowed and the agony of cycling returned.
As I looked on into the rising hills of the Connor Ranges, the wind pushing me back, the rise of the road ahead slowing me to a crawl, I decided it was time to forget my original destination and find a suitable bush camp. The main body of the ranges were set back a few hundred metres from the road, their tops covered with lush vegetation while down at my level, ground level, the road rose and fell amongst dry open land with little, if any shade, or areas where I could comfortably camp unseen.
At the fifty kilometre mark a car whizzed past and suddenly put on its brakes, turned onto the gravel verg and stopped. It was Cohl and Alva, the couple I had met at the campsite in Rockhampton. Cohl got out the car and held out a bottle of fizzy drink and shouted, "come on Malcolm, you can do it" holding out the bottle he cheared me on, I stepped up a gear and sped past him grabbing the bottle chearing like I had just won the tour de france, of course I hadn't but it helped pick me up.
After a few minutes chin wag they wished me luck and we parted, they were hoping to get to Airlie beach(300km), I was hoping to get another fifty kilometres. With renewed zest I hammered on, the hammering didn't last long, the wind and the hills once again slowing me down. I ended up at Clairview, I couldn't find a suitable camp ground at all. It was almost six o'clock I had been on the road for almost nine hours, six of which I had been pushing those paddals, I was exhausted.
Turning off the highway I followed the road to Clairview, I don't know what I expected but I was surprised at what I got. Normally I would be confronted by a small main street with a sign post pointing me in the direction of the camp ground, there would be the obligetory hotel - bar and a convenience store. That is not what I got, Clairview was the village and the camp ground, the convenience store was the reception and the hotel was the caravan park ground, the bar was at the back of the reception and the beach just a few metres from the bar.
It was a busy wee village with people coming and going, there was laughter and shouting, the atmosphere was great. As I went through the entrance of the site and was greeted by a large unshaven guy with a lumber jack shirt hanging of his back, he smiled and said, "Jesus, I bet your glad that ride is over", I just replied, "you bet" and cycled past. Another guy walked past and said, "G'day, I passed you just outside Rockhampton" and walked on.
I liked the place, already I felt relaxed, I went into the reception, convenience store, bar and asked their prices. It was twenty five dollars for a basic caravan, once again I hesitated and told myself I couldn't really afford it, I asked how much it would be for two nights. Jackie, one of the owners said, "twenty five dollars a night, it doesn't change". It was only nine dollars to camp but - my excuse - it was six pm, I couldn't be bothered setting up camp, unpacking everything to fall asleep on a deflated Thermarest, I booked the caravan, Jackie smiled and said,"okay, I'll only charge twenty dollars" I thanked her and left.
The van 'was' basic but comfortable, I lay down and slept for a couple of hours before venturing down to the darkened beach. The camp kitchen was also the dining room and the bar, it wasn't busy but it had a rugged friendly feel to it. The whole place was decorated with fishing memorabilia, nets, pictures, floats and even dried fish. I sat in a huge comfortable, well worn armchair reading the abundance of tourist information, my eyes got heavy and I began t6o do the noddy, it was just after ninepm when I made my way back to the caravan and fell asleep.
Monday 12th August 2002 - Day off
Walking down to the shop this mornng I bumped into Craig, a fellow cyclist, he was from Australia and doing a point to point trip from the most notherly tip of the east coast ' Cape York' to the most southerly tip 'Cape Liptrap'. It was already lunchtime, I had slept in and pottered about the van before venturing out into the midday sun. Craig, who had already been on the road for six weeks and enjoying the challenge of his trip, was on a lunch break and not planning on hanging around, but after chatting for a time decided he liked the place and would stay the night. I ended up having a few beers with him before and after tea, then we sat chatting till about twelve thirty. The conversation was lively, you know the usual, 'lets save the world by solving all it's problems while sitting on a bar stool'. We covered everything from the current ilegal imigrant issues and detention centres to the state of fried eggs in cafe's. I didn't get my usual early night, it was almost one a.m. when I crashed.
Tuesday 13th August 2002 - Destination Sarina - Distance cycled 97km
I had planned on reaching Mackay this evening but it 'as you can see' didn't happen. The road from Clairview was easy, it followed the rail track for most of the way, the hills were okay and I managed a reasonable speed. That was the early part of the day, early being between ten and eleven a.m., my late night made for a slow dodling morning, I was lethargic and not in the least bit interested in hitting the road. However, I did and pushed on as if I had nowhere to go in a hurry, it took a few hours to wake my tired muscles and get them to pretend they were keen to work.
I made reasonable time until the road once again pointed to the coast, then the head wind hit me hard and slowed the pace down to a mere fifteen kilometres an hour on the flat, it wasn't worth calculating my speed over the hills, they were hard and slow. If I had stopped yakking and went to sleep at a reasonable time last night things may have been fine, I just couldn't be bothered with the fight. I reached Sarina and was content with my distance for the day. Sarina, an industrial town that produces molasses and Ethyl Alcohol as byproducts from the sugar industry.
It was about three thirty when I arrived in town, plenty of time I thought, to check my emails befor finding a place to lay my head dowsn for the night. The information desk phoned the library and booked me a computer for four o'clock, this was great, I would have plenty of time to read and send emails. Sarina looked like quite a large town and I expected the library to reflect that fact, it didn't, it was small and had only one computer. I arrived there at fifteen minutes to four, I was early, however thelibrarian said it was okay and showedme the computer. Quickely, I got frustrated, it was slow, steam driven, it took me until quarter to five to read a couple of emails and reply to one, I spent most of my time in front of the screen waiting for the pages to load.
I booked into the backpackers accomodation at the 'Sarina Palms Holiday Village' it was fourteen dollars a night, my tent would have cost me ten dollars. The place was neat and comfortable, I organised myself a bed in a room of my own, things weren't too busy at the hliday village. While sitting down in the dinning area Bill came and introduced himself. Bill was a semi permenant at the village, he was in Sarina doing some very interesting research into the discovery of early mines which he believes, were opened by the Egyptians more than three thousand years ago. He also believes he has evidence to prove that the Aborigines didn't arrive here over a land bridge, but were brought here as slaves from Africa. His beliefs were widely acknowledged as untrue, but Bill who used to be an assistant editor with 'Exposure Magazine' was convinced he was right, he called himself a truth seaker who, was unqualified in his field of interest but wanted to prove the history books wrong.
Wednesday 14th August 2002 - Destination Mackay - Distance cycled 41km
It was a short day today, I was heading to Patrick and Wendy's, Debbie's brother and sister inlaw. So I could take it easy, there was no rush and no hills. I arrived in town before twelve o'clock so again I took the opportunity to check my emails. I went to the information office to get a map of the area, found where the library was and headed that way. I was an hour cycling upand down the road where tha library was and couldn't findit, I asked someone who was delivering parcels to a shop, she said it was either in the street I was on or the next parallel one.
I was in the right street it was just that the librery, a huge building was hidden by even bigger trees, there was no sign telling me, "Library - down this lane", obviously the locals didn't even know it existed. I went straight to the enquiries desk and asked if they had internet access,"yes" they said, "are you a member?". "No, I replied, I am just passing through". Oh, then you can't use the computers, sorry. This is the first town I have been to where I have been refused the use of a computer, they told me it was their policy and there was nothing they could do about it. Fine, I said, are there any internet cafe's in Mackay? They gave me a list of internet cafe's, I chose one and headed off to find it, I found it quickly enough but it had shut down about six months previously, what a waste of time.
I gave up on trying to check me emails and headed to the beach where I found a quiet spot where I could sit at peace and catch up with my journal. I just got settled, pulled out the computer and started to type, bliss I thought and began to settle into writing mode, the creative juces begining to flow. I just touched the keyboard when a car pulled up at the kerbside, an elderly guy got out the car and walked towards me, as he reached the table I was sitting at he plonked himself down next to me then asked if I minded. I did mind, I wanted some quiet contemplation time, I didn't tell him that though. He said that he passed me on the street an hour ago, he knew I would be here, all tourists head along this stretch of the beach, "I wish I had known, I would have went somewhere else", that was my thought but I didn't say anything. This guy sat asking all the usual questions and didn't want to leaved, he sat there for over an hour, I had to make an excuse to get away several times, eventually braking free but hadn't written a thing.
Thursday 15th August 2002 - Destination Airlie Beach - Distance cycled 140km
I left Patrick and Wendy's at seven o'clock, Patrick was already away to work. The clouds were thick and threatening rain, as I peddaled up Bridge Road the rain began to splattered me on the face. It had been another night of talking, which wasn't a problem, I like talking, but I felt unrested and not really looking forward to ten hours in the saddle, the rain threatening to soak me didn't help enthuse me much either. However, I was on my way, there was no turning back, though I did contemplate getting a train at least some of the way up the coast, 'I didn't' my stuborn determination egging me on.
Once I hit the highway and warmed my tired bones I was okay, the road slid under me like slime through your fingers, the wind was in my direction, the hills were threatening but not insermountable. Looking ahead I saw Mt Pleasant, Mt Ossa and the ranges I had to across, it didn't look good for the day ahead. Most of the road was skirted by sugar cane farms, the tall green leaves waving in the wind. Now and again I stood watching as the cane was harvested, the massive cutting blades hooked onto the side of a tractor, stripping the green foliage before grabbing the cane and chopping it into six inch lengths ready for the processors.
Apart from the green from the sugar cane and the rugged outback bush covering the ranges, the grass was crisp dry, the soil like dust, sand on a beach. Queensland was in a drought state and apart from the sprinkling they got today, they hadn't had rain for months, crops were bad this year with talk that a lot of the landowners would go bankrupt. For instance Bowen, just seventy kilometres up the road, where their annual income comes from ground fruit, tomatoes, zuccinies, squash etc. has been wiped out. Normally every year there is work for hundreds of itinerant workers, but the news on the ground was 'not to bother' there are no crops.
The start of the day was slow but once I warmed, I glided along the tarmac scaling the highs and lows of the country side, stopping only a few times on the way to Proserpine, my turning point to the coast and Airlie Beach. As I approached the hundred kilometre mark I began to tire, my energy waning, the hills and the average speed of about twenty two kilometres an hour had taken their toll, my pace slowed, I had to rest more.
At four o'clock I was on the last leg, the twenty five kilometre stretch from Proserpine to Airlie Beach. Turning the bike east and into a full on head wind, I thought the day was never going to end, it took me another hour and a half of perseverance and persperation to finally reach my destination, Reefo's.
Reefo's is a backpackers set into the foot hills, some five kilometres out side Airlie Beach, I heard about it from one of the many backpackers I crossed paths with on the road. For ten dollars a night you can share a cabin with up to five others, I booked in and found myself sharing a room with two Japanees girls and two Norwegian girls, what luck no competition.
The whole place set in a tropical paradise with well spaced log cabins and plenty of shade form palms and other native trees.The main reception was an open affair manned by happy smiling staff twenty four hours a day, all staff were paid one hundred and seventy five dollars a week and given full board. Behind the reception was the dining hall come breakfast hall, come bar and party room, laid out with long wooden benches and tables. Sitting between twenty and forty revelers, it had the feel of a Bavarian beer keller,without he stiens. Most of the residents were in their late teens or early twenties, I fitted in well, they, by the time I got to the bar at about seven thirty, were all drunk and getting pretty roudy.
I had been to Airlie Beach before, 1987, at that time I loved the place, now as I walked down the main street listening to the music pumping out of every bar and eating establishment, the place seemed spoilt, spoilt by the need for business owners to grab every cent out of the tourism industry. The main street resembled something out of Las Vegas, the bright neon lights glowing above every building, drunken imaturities shouting and yelling at one another. There were a few eateries which looked a lot more sedate, sitting at cerb side tables eating the local delicacies were the 'Gray Nomads' a more sofisticated and sedentary lot who were traveling aound Australiain in their retirement, the whole place was a strange mix of commercialism and a Butlins camp, Benedorm in it's hay day.
Friday 16th August 2002 - Day off
Yvonne said she would take me up to the lookout today, but I was up early while the revelers from last night were still pushing up Zzz's.The girl at the reception drew a blank when I asked her where the lookout was, 'we don't have a look out' she exclaimed in a dry tone. The guy sitting next to her said that, 'we do have a rock that people use as a look out'. That'l be fine I said, how do I find it? The guy, waving his hands gave me directions that weren't really very helpfull, all I deciphered from his actions was that the track was somewhere up behind the cabins, I left and started my trek.
I followed a grass track up the hill behind camp until it stopped, well it didn't actually stop, it just forked off in several directions as it wound it's way up a steap and rocky outcrop. I chose one of the the spindlie tentacles and precariously, with camera and journal in hand, picked my way to the top of the hill. It 'was' a rock, a huge flat topped rock which over looked the bay below. The view was worth the trek, I sat down, my legs dangling over the side and watched small sailing boats meander in and out of Airlie Beach Harbour. From my vantage point I could see out across the water to the Hayman, Hook and Molle Islands.
It was still early, the sun hadn't reached full strength, but I still felt very hot and sticky as I made my way back down the hill. Just as I reached the cabins, I saw someone waving their arms in my direction, I couldn't make out who they were, they were probably trying to attract the attention of someone else. I turned in towards my cabin and heard a faint voice shouting, "Hey, Malky". I still couldn't recognise who they were so I made my way towards them. Oh no, it can't be, I thought I had got away from them for ever... It was Jason and Glen, the two Irish guys from Secluded Springs, I was in for a hectic day.
After they checked in and after I said cheerio to Annette from Denmark, I felt sick after finding out that Glen and Jason were moving into the cabin next to mine, I had the right, I had spent a week with them in Bundy, they were full on piss pots. Things hadn't changed, I told them I was getting the eleven o'clock shuttle into town, they thought it was a great idea and joined me along with Yvonne. It started of ok, well, until Jason suggested we share a jug of beer, 'only one jug' I said. Four or so jugs later we ordered a carry out and headed back to Reefo's, the session continued till the wee hours.
They had a game they played in Ireland, 'Feed the baby' basicaly, when they went out for a beer and one of the company was either short of money or just being a party pooper, the cried 'Feed the baby'. I was short of money and was labeled the baby, they informed me that it was okay, it wouldn't cost me much, all I had to do was drink. It was the responsibility of the rest of the team to make sure I didn't stop until I colapsed. I said, "no chance, I'm stopping now" I didn't, not until about two thirty in the morning.
Sunday 18th August 2002 - Destination, Bush camp 25km north of Bowen - Distance cycled 100km
A bit hung over, I tried to sneak away before Jason and Glen got up, it was seven thirty, Yvonne came to say goodbye, she looked sad, I noticed the tears running down her face, I gave her a big hug and told her everything would be alright. As I left she said she would see me in Townsville, I smilled and said yes, okay. I liked her.
As I pedalled towards Bowen, it didn't take long for me to expel the excess alcohol from my body, the road started hilly but once on the highway with the wind behind me, things just sailed along. I was making an average of about twenty kilometres an hour, I covered the seventy five kilometres to Bowen by twelve thirty and even though I was begining to feel tired, I thought I may manage to get half way to Ayr, a further one hundred and sixteen kilometres up the road.
I sat resting in a park over looking Edgecumbe Bay, and as my body cooled, I decided I would find out how much the Bowen Backpackers were charging. The Backpackers looked a small affair, the front office, painted a peach colour looked out onto the main street, I walked through a close which led to the back of the building, the manager offered to show me around. The wholeplace opening up into a sizeable place with rows of rooms sleeping upto four people, a large TV room and an even larger kitchen. In the middle were landscaped terraces where young revelers prepared to celebrate a friends birthday, there was a plethora of colourful shirts, head bands, shorts and hair styles, it was a colourful carnival scene.
The cost of a bed was sixteen dollars a night with a five dollar surcharge if you wanted the hostel to find you work. I was told there was lots of work and that I could start tomorrow if I wanted. Yes, I am looking for work but I had just left Reefo's and a couple of nights swilling beer, I didn't want any more. I decided just to keep going.
I got out of town and was cycling through the rugged hills just above Bowen when I realised that, I was in no real hurry, I didn't have any money, even if I did have money, I couldn't get any after I snapping my bank card. The road through the hills was good, it had been graded and therefor tyhe hills became gentle climbs, it was three thirty when I spotted a suitable campsite in the bush, I pitched my tent. As I setup my tent I felt a wave of extreme tiredness come over me, I rolled out the tent, stretched myself out on it and fell asleep in the shade of a tree. I slept for over an hour, before I pitched the tent properly. Crawling into the tent without any tea,I fell asleep till six in the morning.
Top of Page
Monday 19th August 2002 - Destination Townsville - Distance cycled, 95km
As always with bush camping, I was up early, taking my time, I had a breakfast of wheet Bix, packed the tent and was on the road by seven thirty. The tail wind stayed with me I made great time, averaging about twenty four kilometres an hour, I was just seven kilometres from Ayr by twelve thirty. That meant I only had eighty five kilometres to Townsville, if the road and the wind stayed in my favour, I could reach my final destination by five pm.
I felt hungry and stopped at the side of the road for a couple of sandwiches on tomato crisps - that's all I had to eat. I was only there for about twenty minutes, refreshed and ready for another stint, I got back on the bike. Disaster, I had my first puncture on this leg of the journey, I didn't mind too much, I had done pretty well not to have had more punctures. I pulled up under a tree and procceeded to fix the puncture. That done I thought I should check the preasure in the back tyre, it also had a puncture. Still not to concerned I removed the rear wheel and again fixed the puncture. As I done so Cohl and Alva, an Irish couple I met in Rockhampton came by and stopped to say hello.
I was just getting ready to replace the rear wheel when I noticed the front wheel had gone flat again! now I was getting anoyed. Cohl and Alva watching this offered me a lift, I said no, but then after fixing the front wheel for the second time, I got totally pissed when I discovered the rear wheel had another flat, I gave in to Alva's persistence and took the lift. I felt guilty as soon as I got in the car, it was only eighty odd kilometres but I felt like a hack giving in on the last few hours of a fifteen hundred kilometre run. However the bike was loaded and I sat in the back seat of the car on top of their matress, I was comfortable and enjoying the idle chat as we drove the final few kilometres to the city.
Tuesday 20th August 2002 - Townsville the end of this leg.
I'm siting here in Jupiters Hotel and Casino, the Kurri Kurri to Townsville leg of my trip over, no, not spending money, just getting my journal up to date and watching the money people check into their two hundred dollar a night rooms. This five star hotel gives me a great resting place, away from other like minded travelers. It allows me the space to sit and contemplate where I've been and where I am going next, without having to answer all the usual, who are you, where are you from, where are you going questions. These establishments are expensive holiday resorts, where nobody meets anybody, and nobody intermingles with anyone else, I sat for two hours unencumbered.
The weather outside was a bit wild, the clouds hanging heavy, the wind, warm, but blowing soft rain droplets through the air. I can feel the difference as I move north into a much more tropical climate, the humididty high and the air sticky.
I walked the four kilometres back to camp, on the way I passed a recruitment consultants, it was time to find work. I looked through the window before venturing in, a girl came from another office and said hello. I asked what sort of work they had available, the answer was not so easy, they delt in all sorts of things. I told her I was looking for casual work, she said I had to submit a CV and an application form, before she could discuss my requirements. I was handed the form, it was eight pages long, asking all sorts of questions from driver licence number to passport number and how often I sat on the toilet. I took the form and left saying I would hand it back later, after I got a lawyer to fill it in for me.
Go to > - September 2002 |
| Top of Page |
This document maintained by [email protected].
Material Copyright © 2000 Malcolm Campbell