To Derby, from Derby, back to Derby, away from Derby...again...

I awoke in Broome on the day of my departure to the devastating realisation that Tim's dog Ernie had desired my muesli-bars a little more than I did. Unfortunately they were enclosed within the pocket of my camel-bak (water container) and he had ripped through it to get at the goodies within. Bummer.
The ride into Derby was uneventful, however the sudden appearance of Boab trees were a much appreciated addition to the scenery. Each tree seemed to hold its own character, size and history. Like old gnarly men after a life time of hard work.
I had decided that it was time to proceed to the next level in difficulty by attempting a section of the famed Gibb River Rd. This meant dirt, corrugations, river-crossings and wild country. I was very excited by this. So I made my way to the visitors centre where a chorus of voices condemned the idea and told me it was not possible with my set-up. The problem with telling someone they can't do something is that they then have to. So I set out to prove them wrong... and then returned days later hanging my head in shame...
To be honest the road condition was not so bad. Passing cars sent up a wall of thick dust, and the corrugations kept my speed to a minimum, but I was prepared for this and plodded along as best I could. The scenery was unique and beautiful, and the feeling of riding a push bike through such remote country was refreshing. I was thoroughly enjoying myself.
But eventually the words of the nay-sayer's ate their way into the very core of my bike and... snap! The trailer was suddenly dragging along the ground and my rear wheel was wobbling. That bloody axle again!!! Luckily I had a spare, but with the road condition forecast to deteriorate and many km's to go, it was time to bite the bullet and head back to Derby.
Luckily I was not too far from Windjana Gorge, and made a side-trip in to experience the stunning landscape. Windjana was simply amazing. I will let the photo's do the talking, because my ramblings could go on forever.
I should mention also that these events took place over many days, and that the camp-spots were awesome.
On my return in Derby I slithered back to the caravan park taking special care to avoid the visitors centre, and then went to the Boab-Inn, the very rough pub in Derby. There I sat with a hard-earned beer to feel sorry for myself and watch the locals behaving badly. It was a relaxing end to a physically and mentally draining failure.
It was time once more to hit the highway.

Broome

After the adventure through the so called desert, it was time to put the bike aside and enjoy the sunny town of Broome.
I can keep this post short, because nothing of particular interest took place, just a nice time to relax.
I arrived in Broome on Thursday the 12/7 just after lunch. I was very lucky indeed to be welcomed into the house of a friend of mine Tim. To be exact, I had only met Tim a few short times back in Melbourne but he offered me a bed to sleep in like a champion. Tim is working at the boarding school for aboriginal children within Broome and being young, witty and healthy he manages to keep them out of too much mischief.
Tim's girlfriend was away visiting home (Germany) when I arrived and Tim was on holidays... Time to have a few beers!
So over the course of two and a half days we went to visit Cable Beach for cold refreshments and I explored town as best I could. Tim cooked delicious meals and his dogs kept us entertained.

It was a nice way to unwind and prepare for the upcoming excitement of the Kimberly. And I was excited!!!

The Great-Sandy Desert

The Great Sandy Desert was far less sandy and  not quite as great as I had hoped. This is probably due to the fact that I skirted it rather than riding up through the guts (which would have been cooler). I consider this stretch to run between the industrial Port Hedland and sunny Broome.
Port Hedland was a horrible place to ride a bike, and also the scariest road to date. I weaselled my way through disintegrating roads shared with heavy, noisy, angry road-trains by the hundreds. I did my best to spot them approaching in my mirror whilst watching them cruise towards me ahead. In the event that these two should coincide I would ride off the road to safety. However, the trucks were in such great numbers that I seemed to spend more time standing on the side of the road. It was slow, smoggy, dirty and scary. But I got through it without any real dramas, and it was not long before the road-train numbers subsided.
I stayed the night in South-Hedland where I met a 54 year old Mexican woman riding around Australia also (the opposite direction). The purpose of her ride was to promote Mexico for the great country it is in a country which perceives it as a drug-ridden hell-hole. Whether she is successful or not I admire her determination and wish her good-luck on a journey that she is not particularly enjoying.
There were some great camp sites along the road to Broome and decided to ride less km's per day to enjoy them. Starting with DeGray River where the trees stood tall, the birds sang, the Brahman bulls roamed and a kind lady gave me a huge bag full of short bread biscuits. I ate the entire bag before she was gone. Yum.
Next stop was Pardoo Roadhouse which was cheap, quiet and friendly. I met Bruce, a middle-aged (very) Aussie man with some great stories. We sat up late into the night under a star-filled sky to chat and drink a few too many beers. Yum.
Sadly that night I slept poorly due to the cold and was therefore very tired the next day. The temperature fell to 2 degrees Celsius and despite my beany hat and thermals my feet still froze. I should have spent more on a sleeping-bag.
Therefore due to the lack of sleep I found it a very hard day to reach the 80 mile beach (103km's). In fact it was one of the worst days on my bike yet. I. Was. Pi#$ed. Off!!! It was a late start, a broken front basket, a sore bum, sickness from a lack of food, a very corrugated road in and a tourist scaring away a Goanna before I could take a photo that did it - amongst other things. However the beach was gorgeous and I had a cold beer with a young man Tim from Scotland. Yum. I am just looking at the page in my journal that reads "Sh*t day all round". Pretty much sums it up.
Luckily the next day was a short 54km ride into the Sandfire Roadhouse. I was not planning on staying the night but changed my mind after meeting a young English man named Tommy Gur peddling around Australia in the opposite direction... But he had bike trouble and was very stuck. Rather then spend time looking at his bike I bought a bottle of coke after he produced a bottle of rum. Yum. With a few pot-fulls of rum in our stomachs (I don't carry a cup) we chatted late into the night and I found it very useful to talk to a like-minded, enthusiastic cyclist.
The next day produced 108km's which took me to 'Stanley Rest Stop'. It was a boring day with little to report. I admit with shame that I was a little rude to a persistent old chap who insisted that I sit and play cards with him and his wife in their caravan. I really was just too tired. It had been a hot long road. To add to my shame, when I woke in the morning I found that he had left a cold milk drink with assorted fruit in the front basket of my bike. Old gentleman, if you ever read this blog (unlikely) then please know that I am both sorry and thankful.
My last day on the highway was a gruelling stretch of 181km's through rather monotonous scenery. The last 50 odd km's had me begging for a quick end and a cold drink. When I did finally reach the Roebuck Plains Roadhouse I talked to the young girl behind the counter and with some difficulty convinced her to ask the chef to cook me an extra large meal - and so it was!

                                                  Wake up with this guy sniffing my tent!

                                                         Sandfire Roadhouse

                                                      The first camel of many

                                                  80mile beach sunset

                                                             80 mile sunset

                                                   Tough bikey with yellow zink

                                                       Face only a mother could love

                                                              Tommy with his '3rd wheel'





From there it was only a short 34km peddle into Broome...
        

Karijini National Park - Wittenoom

After a minor fall resulting in a grazed hip and arm, I rode gingerly into Karijini National Park.  Karijini is a large park famous for deep red gorges surrounded by contrasting lush vegetation. The water is cool and crystal clear, and far enough south to be crocodile free.
Now I'll make it clear to you now that I had not washed since Exmouth... Hundreds and hundreds of km's back. I was dirty. My face was covered in dirt smudges, my legs were red with thick layers of earth, my riding top and shorts were stiff with dried blood from the fall and I stunk like never before. It was great.
So I when I jumped into the clear pools the water seemed to fizzle like I was a bath-bomb. I cleaned my wounds as best I could and spent countless hours soaking in the pristine rock-pools. To add to my delight I met 3 young, beautiful Swizz girls who insisted on dressing my grazes. What an oasis.
I spent two days exploring the gorge systems and moved on reluctantly. But I was excited to reach my next destination... Wittenoom.

Wittenoom is now a ghost town, buildings still standing paying tribute to perhaps Australia's worst industrial disaster. It is situated in the very scenic Hamersley Range within the Pilbara.
In the 1950's Wittenoom was the largest town in the Pilbara, where blue asbestos was being heavily mined. The mining boom brought many people to live in the town and gas and electricity were connected.
By 1966 the mine was shut down due to growing health concerns, and the town slowly diminished into what remains today: just 5 stubborn residents.
Today the town receives no government services, the gas and electricity has been shut-off and the town has been removed from road signs and official maps.
Many people died as a result of lung disease caused by the asbestos fibres being inhaled. Within the refinery and milling buildings were men who worked within a cloud of tiny particles, and many/most of these men have suffered painful deaths.
This is where I was heading.
The dirt road in was dusty and corrugated. Due to a new iron-ore mine being placed 100km's past Wittenoom the road was being used by some very big road-trains. Each road-train raised a wall of thick dust that choked my air-ways and stuck to my sweaty skin. It was very unpleasant. But after some time and perseverance I arrived on the street over-looking Wittenoom town. Two government vehicles slowed down to 'advise' me to leave the area immediately due to the hazardous air. Scaredy cats.
I rode up and down the cracking sealed roads to observe the town gone to waste. Roads were over-grown, shops were empty and houses were slowly fading away to nothing. However, as I passed by I noticed a few houses with well-kept gardens and even music coming from one particular yard. I stopped in and came face-to-face with a man representing one-fifth of the population. We sat down in the yard to listen to country music over a cold VB. As I had imagined, this man was peculiar. I felt that his life had been dedicated to fighting a war that was long forgotten. He was not going anywhere, and it was all he could talk about. He shopped 3 times a year in Tom Price and that was the extent of his travels. He didn't have a job or a family. I had the impression that he did not often have company, and when a truck pulled up to join us for a chat he nearly jumped out of his skin. Three was a crowd.
The truck driver had stopped to see the town that had killed his father. His father had worked in the mill, and died of asbestosis 30 years later. It was a cold reminder for me to understand the reality of the danger. Listening to this local complaining about the hardship of life was taxing on my happiness and so I was off. I decided to ride into Wittenoom gorge to camp for the night. The road in was so over-grown and cracked that it gave a strange forgotten feel. I was very alone in the gorge system and far from phone reception or civilisation. I loved the feeling. I saw snakes and lizards and camped right on the edge of a lush water hole beneath a towering cliff. It was picturesque.
Admittedly I found that indeed the ground was littered with blue asbestos fibres, but they were as long as a finger and impossible to inhale. I walked carefully and have no regrets on entering.
That night as I fired up my cooker to prepare dinner, I listened as the howling of dingo's came closer and closer. I had encountered this before and so took little notice. However when the howling stopped and I heard sticks cracking very close by I shone my torch around wildly. Only a few meters away were four or five dingo's approaching wearily. I had been warned that when a large pack worked together they become increasingly brave and so I stood back in fright. Luckily when I made loud noises and stood tall with my arms in the air they retreated and all was well. It was a very cool experience.
Wittenoom had been unforgettable, and I will upload some pictures soon to prove the beauty.

Pilbara Classics

Where the bloody hell am I???
It was hot, dry and the distances stretched far into the horizon. The rocks of the Pilbara seemed to shine metallic red in the late afternoon sunlight. Ranges of exposed, towering rock stood tall around the road that managed to avoid any real hills by winding round and around. The scenery was mind-blowing - and without the undulations... You beauty!
I was really sweating now, and not because of the heat, but because I was losing spokes in my rear wheel. I was some 260km's from the nearest town (Paraburdoo) and was really kicking myself for riding unprepared.
As I rode on into the afternoon heat with worst-case scenarios playing out in my mind I spotted a van driving towards me in the distance. It slowed down as it approached me and a small man hung out of the window to ask me how I was going. When I told him that I was having troubles with the bike he smiled and pulled over past me on the side of the road. As he did this I saw the big letters on the side of his van: "bicycle support crew - Mechanic". He was driving ahead of a group of 15 odd cyclists riding through northern Australia raising funds for M.S.
I had heard whispers of the cycling group but was still blown away by my luck. The probability of finding a bicycle mechanic out in the red outback seemed slim, but here he was fixing my bike. What's more he was such a friendly man who insisted that I was doing it tougher than he, and that I sit back with a cold drink while he fixed the spokes free of charge. I donated $10 to the charity (M.S) for good measure. What luck!!!

This exercise did take time however, and head-winds slowed me further resulting in the decision to ride into darkness to make my camp spot.
So there I was, riding only in the light of my small bike lamp. There was almost zero traffic on the road. It was getting late. I was very alone. But suddenly off in the distance I spotted a light coming from a clearing not far from the road. It was a small camp-fire. I could hear voices. As I drew nearer a voice called out to me, "hey mate come and have some hot dinner with us!". I was starving by this stage and pulled in with no hesitation. A young man was sitting next to the fire with a pot of hot stew. He offered me a bowl and I tucked into the delicious feast. We began to chat and I squinted through the fire looking for the other voices I had heard. There didn't appear to be anyone else with us. The conversation grew increasingly more confusing when this man began referring to other people who I could not see. What was going on?
And so it came to pass that this young, bright, handsome man admitted to me in a moment of clarity that he was suffering from schizophrenia. We cooked bread in the fire and he gave me a lesson in baking an apple cake in the coals. He was such an amazing man and I learned a great deal as he spoke to me with honesty. He offered me some dirt to set up my tent next to his, but reluctantly I refused. In all probability I would have been safe with him, but he had mentioned that one particular character in his head was known to have a temper, and I didn't want to be around for such an event.
As I rode off into the darkness once more thinking about what had just transpired, I came across a street sign that read: (I will upload the picture when I arrive in town in a few days!)
It had been an eventful day.