Flying Along

There were relatively few towns to pass through on the west side of the Eyre peninsula. The weather was hot, and I was once more blessed with a tail wind to whizz me up the map towards Ceduna. From tiny towns such as Sheringa: population around 60, to the beautiful township of Elliston: population 750.

There were stunning beaches to visit, caves to explore and rugged camp-spots with sensational views. 

On a Friday afternoon I rolled into the small town of Port Kenny. It had been a scorching day and I was eager to take shelter in the shade. After exploring the town with an ice-cream in hand, I had taken note of a good place to camp not too far from the pub.

As I entered the pub I saw my good friend Kel chatting with the locals over a few beers. After ordering a beer I copped no less then ten minutes of abuse from an old, washed-up lady, with regards to the stupidity of my trip. She made endless assumptions about my life and ranted on and on about what a cop-out my ride is and what a "stupid idiot" I am. Finally the bar-tender butted in to tell her gruffly that enough is enough. He apologised informing me that she picks fights very often. I was still a little stunned at the sudden barrage.

I joined Kel for a few beers and a good yarn. We had been crossing each others paths very frequently along the road. He was towing a caravan, so had the time to stay and enjoy the attractions along the way. However I was slowly plugging along each day staying for shorter periods of time. He would always pull-over to offer me a cold drink when passing on the road. 

After Kel left, the pub began to fill up, and it wasn't long before I was engaged in conversation with a group of local farmers. They were buying me beer after beer and I was thoroughly enjoying the company. I was offered a free room for the night upstairs at the pub by the owner who was drinking with us. But old farmer Tom said that I would be going to stay at his place where I could shower and have a decent feed. 

When I awoke a little startled the next morning at farmer Tom's house, he had breakfast ready on the table. 

I had left all my gear and bike inside the pub after close, and so I told Tom that I needed to get back there somehow to retrieve it. He informed me that the pub was quite a drive, so it would be faster if we just flew in his small, Cessna plane. FLY IN HIS PLANE?? 

As we climbed into the cockpit he turned to me and said rubbing his eyes wearily, "Jeez I think I'm still pissed!" Not exactly what I wanted to hear. 

None-the-less the flight was breath-taking. Seeing the peninsula from the sky on such a clear day was unforgettable. The rugged coastline, sparkling water and arid soils were perfect. I really was a lucky boy. He could see my enjoyment, and allowed me to take control for a while, which was the thrill of a life-time. He showed me a few loop-de-loops but had to stop as he was worried the whiskey he was drinking the night before might reappear.  

It was only a short 60km ride into Streaky bay that afternoon where I met Kel to stay in his caravan. We had a few beers, cooked some delicious steaks and I had a relaxing sleep - free of my tent and my deflated mattress. Life was good. 

 

Top: .....Didn't quite make the jump......

Bottom: Preparing to get wet!

    

Coffin Bay

After a luxurious sleep-in and first-class dining experience (KFC) , I left Port Lincoln feeling rejuvenated, ready to tackle the west side of the peninsula in record time.
Only 40km's down the road was the turn-off for Coffin Bay. I had planned on travelling further, but a friend I had met in Arno Bay named Kel had inspired my curiosity by painting a lovely picture of the place. He was headed there also. So I made the somewhat paradoxical decision to travel into a head-wind, 15km's in the wrong direction to the sinister sounding township of Coffin Bay.
The ride in was truly breath-taking, and the bay itself was picturesque, filled with row upon row of oyster beds for local industry. A big red-bellied black snake was posing for me directly in front of the beach which would have made a one-in-a-million shot, but slithered away just as I took the lens-cap off.
After some snooping around and a quick dip in the crystal-clear water it was getting late, so I followed procedure when entering a new town, and went directly to the pub. My plan was to have a few beers and then ride into the national park to set-up camp after dark.
After some lonesome pondering at the bar I finally met a like-minded companion - a guy of around my age bought me a beer and wanted to play some pool.
Max was a 22yr old miner up in the N.T, who was visiting his child-hood home of Coffin Bay for some time off work. He was switched-on, outgoing and ready to have a few too many drinks.
A few beers and some one-sided pool later (I thrashed him), the pub was closing and we were forced to buy some whiskey and hit the road. We visited the jetty where the lights were attracting large squid in numbers, and it was decided: I would stay another night in order to catch these tasty creatures. That night I snuck into the caravan park to sleep and was packed-up early enough to shower and escape.
The next day I stowed my bike at the general store and Max and I took his 4WD for a spin in the National Park. The beaches were like nothing I had seen, with towering sand-dunes and endless, deserted white-sandy beaches overlooking fish-filled pristine waves.
4WDing is permitted on S.A beaches, and I took the time to enjoy being towed behind the vehicle on a sand board. Gliding over the soft sand on a board was very exhilarating, although my every orifice was filled with gritty sand.
Soon after -inevitably- we were bogged. And how! Max and I tried in vain to dig our way to hard ground, but soon gave up. Luckily we had a fresh bottle of whiskey and a fishing rod in the car, so we poured a few stiff drinks and hit the surf. Max shot the lure around the waves for some time, and upon my turn with the rod, I managed to snap the line (and our only lure) first cast.
When we arrived back at the Toyota Troopy we found a large crowd of fellow 4WDers admiring the depth at which we were bogged. They were willing to help us out. It took many hands and some V8 power to pull us out... while I sat back with a delicious drink!
After a late afternoon oyster lunch Max and I waited until dark to prey upon the jetty squid. After dark it didn't take us long to bag some table-size calamari. I had envisaged that we would buy some oil and use the public bbq to cook our feast to perfection. But Max was not one for waiting, and after cleaning, they went straight into his gob. He ate the entire squid (minus the beak and tentacles) raw as though this was common practise. Max insisted I eat mine raw also, but I gave up after a few chewy mouthfuls.

Coffin Bay had been very memorable, all thanks to my new mate Max.

Port Lincoln

It was a huge feeling of relief when I finally rolled into Port Lincoln. It had been a 140km day into wind with only a short stop in the scenic Tumby Bay for lunch. I was totally buggered, and it was getting late. I called directory assistance in the evening trying to find a caravan park to stay at before the offices closed. But they were all shut. I was desperate to stay somewhere with a shower to wash the squashed bugs out of my leg-hair and wash my dirty, mattered hair. My hands were black with dirt and chain grease and my face was a mash of red, white and black (sunburn, sunscreen and grease). It had been a very long time since my last wash.

I could have jumped for joy as I rounded a corner to see a caravan park attached to a service-station with 24hour check-in.  

The girl behind the counter was very friendly (and good-looking) and wanted to know all about my trip. Soon after I set up my tent over-looking the beach and hit the shower with gusto. 

Unfortunately my self-inflatable mattress sprung a leak that night, welcoming me to a new world of even less sleep. Each night since day one I had been waking several times to severe cramping in my quads. To add to this the sound of heavy trucks passing on the highway near my tent was taking some getting used to, and my tent was showing some wear-and -tear with small holes allowing ants and small bugs to bunk with me, sometimes resulting in a bite or two. 

The next day I took care and time to wash and check my gear for loose-ends. It was my rest day and it was a beautiful day at that. I went into town to shop for gas, batteries, tubes etc. They had everything, which was a relief because country towns had let me down in the past. That afternoon I headed into the Lincoln National Park to find a camp-spot. The lady in the information shop told me the paths were fine for riding and it was not far to the camp-ground. But she was wrong. The tracks were rocky and steep and designed only for 4WD. It took me hours and I rode well into the dark. At one stage a wallaby jumped out right into me knocking me off my bike (first fall), luckily into a softish bush. We both got up startled to looked at each other. After a polite apology from the wallaby we both set off again. 

When I finally reached the camp-ground to find nobody there, I took my torch into the water and found that prawns were sitting in the sand, thinking that they were too well camouflaged. I could just grab them and put them straight into the pot!! Another tasty seafood delight for dinner. The moon and stars were out, reflected off the mirror-like water of the bay, and in the distance the lights of the city shone out. It was a stunning, relaxing end to my rest day in Port Lincoln. 

East Eyre Peninsula

Riding down the east side of the Eyre peninsula (Whyalla - Port Lincoln) was made painfully laborious facing heavy head winds. The road had no concept of the word 'flat', so like a very slow roller-coaster I crept up one side and coasted slowly into the wind down the other. This was made harder for me as I made the decision earlier to follow the coast rather then follow the wind across the top (Eyre highway) which would have saved me 426km's. But this decision later proved to be a good one.
It took four relatively uneventful days to reach Port Lincoln from Port Augusta, and the landscape was often nature reserves. Even though it was usually just mallee scrub, it was beautiful. It was easy to disappear into the trees to camp each night, and the emu's would occasionally visit me inquisitively investigating my tent.
I was lucky enough to experience a short oyster farm tour free of charge due to a random encounter with the owner in the main street of Cowell. It was very interesting.
My next stop was Port Neil, this is where I was going to buy some lunch, but the one shop that sold food was closed! "Sorry for the inconvenience". Well it was a little inconvenient because I only had a tin of tuna and was very hungry. Fortunately I bumped into a middle-age couple with a camper-van that fussed over my nutrition and insisted I eat their sandwiches, fruit and a glass of milk. I was very thankful.
I reached Arno Bay on Friday night which was a great little fishing town, famous for its mega snapper. It was late afternoon when I arrived and I followed the signs to a mangrove board-walk I had heard about earlier. The Grey Mangrove system grew over the tidal rivers and looked utterly spectacular in the fading light. Both sand crabs and Blue-swimmer crabs scurried around quickly avoiding the hungry flocks of hunting sea-birds. But try as I may, no photo could capture the unique nature of the mangrove.
Without considering my camping options for the night it was straight to the pub. After a slow start people began to trickle in and soon I was chatting to the fishermen and feeling very jolly. I was feeling quite sun-burned on my face, but looking around the room calmed my worry. In the dark pub faces shone out, bright red cheeks with purple noses.
I met a group of tourist fishermen who had me in tears with laughter as they teased the local drunks. One such drunk staggered in throwing nasty comments in my direction informing me that cyclists are all scum and he wanted to hit me with his truck. Luckily I had won the hearts of the patrons, and they hushed his taunts with comments like; "shut up Chubbs! Tommy here is alright!", or "sobre up ya drunk!".
As I rode wonkily down the street to look for somewhere to camp that night, I decided that I would return to Arno Bay again one day, but next time on a fishing trip.

Industrial soil

The cities of Port Pirie, Port Augusta and Whyalla represented the most horrible areas I had visited yet. With huge smelters puffing vast black clouds of pollution into the atmosphere, they were smelt before they were seen. The rancid smell of rotten egg lingered on the sea breeze as the production of sulphuric acid was in  full swing. The people seemed depressed, unfriendly and awfully rough. The food was terrible. The shops were few and far between. And so I peddled harder then ever to reach the desert landscapes that stretched out between the towns. The weather was hot and dry, and I took this all as encouragement to  ride long distances with very few rest stops.
Between Port Pirie and Port Augusta however, were two stops worthy of mention.
The first was Port Germein; a tiny town claiming to have the longest wooden jetty in Australia. At about 1.7km's, it was indeed a long walk out to the end. I met a young local bloke drinking beers with an unnecessarily large tub of blue swimmer crabs that he was catching. After some chatting he gave me some sample crabs which I put straight into the tucker bag. A delicious dinner.
A few hours later I was back on the bike riding into the Mt Remarkable National Park to spend the night. The park encompasses the south most reaches of the greater Flinders Ranges, and is home to a stunning variety of plants and animals.
I was able to take some nice shots of a few wallabies and birds, and was planning on taking the 30km gauge hike the next morning until.... TORRENTIAL RAIN!
It rained through the night. It rained all morning. It rained all day. It rained the next night... But I was lucky enough to get away the next morning under a blue sky. However, my tent had leaked, my sleeping bag was soaked, my mattress was soaked, my clothes were soaked and everything was starting to smell like wet dog.
I had not planned on staying for an extra day, and had not come prepared with any food. So all day I sat in the shower block trying to dry my gear, hungry and depressed. Luckily I was invited to eat dinner with a lovely American couple Crash and Sherly. I was treated to a hot chilly dish with frosty cold beers. We sat up exchanging stories of adventure and my spirits lifted quickly.
Between the evils of industry (necessary evil) and the beauty of a natural wonder, I was beginning to understand S.A.