Borroloola - Burketown

I was awake well before sunrise to pack everything to perfection. Unfortunately the shop in Borroloola sells only junk food, so I packed my lollies, muesli-bars  and other sweets into my trailer - not the kind of sustenance I was hoping for. 

I hoped on my bike and started to turn the peddles. It was going to be a long day. 

One by one the km's started to accumulate behind me. The dirt road was smooth, hard-packed and shaded. I was flying! This was going to be easy! This was going to be... oh wait on... 25km's in and here come the hurdles. The grader driver must have given up after 25km's. Bummer. 

It was difficult for me to gauge how long I should expect to be riding as the road conditions improved and deteriorated constantly. One moment I would be singing out triumphantly whilst cruising down the road, and the next moment I would be whinging and whining about the slow 4 km/hour crawl. It took some time before I relaxed to except that this was what it's all about. Before long I was even enjoying the challenges of the road, and the scenery that I was totally immersed in. 

The river-crossings were mostly knee-deep, and I would take my shoes off to walk across. Yes, there were a few cheeky crocodile eyes watching me from the depths of crystal clear pools, but the crossings were always clear and safe. I even chanced a dip in a few glorious rivers where I felt confident it was safe. 

The weather was scorching hot and I took the river-crossings as opportunities to fill my water-bottles and hydrate before moving on. I was drinking about 9 liters per day. 

So buzzing with a cloud of flies in tow, I persevered into Queensland and finally rolled into Hells Gate Roadhouse. I was dirty, smelly and in desperate need of a cold drink. I didn't care if it was urine, if it was cold, I wanted it. The water in my bottles would heat up at a ridiculous rate making drinking a chore rather then a pleasure. 

The 40km's prior to reaching the Roadhouse was the worst road to date. The road was as wide as a main city highway, but a sandy nightmare. The bull-dust was so fine  that it seemed to act as a vacuum to drag my tires down to the depths of Earth. Hence I spent many many hours pushing/dragging/yelling at my bike as I moved on at an all-time record slow speed. It was gruel. 

When I arrived at Hells Gate, I bought myself a cold lemonade and sat in the shade of a tree to soak it up. Hells Gate didn't have any reception or a public phone so calling mum and dad was out of the question. I was also out of luck with any cooked food or friendly service. So I paid my $6 for camping and took a long, icy-cold shower with a scrubbing brush. 

It was here that I met Sarah, a 42year old woman walking from Siberia to Tasmania. Sarah was one of the most amazing people I have ever met. Her philosophy was deep and thorough, and she was both tough and beautiful. We set up our tents next to each others in preparation for the upcoming commotion: the Variety Bash were on their way. 

One by one the old cars of the Variety Bash pulled in and immediately started drinking alcohol. Many people were already drunk. 

I managed to get my slimy tentacles on a cold beer and Sarah and I even scored a delicious feast for dinner that night. Taking dinner from a charity? I have no shame.

The next day I was refreshed, happy and healthy enough to cycle 145km's over the dirt and to my surprise some partially sealed road into a run-down roadhouse (I forgot the name and it is not on my map!). The girl behind the counter served me the cold drink that I was purchasing, and decided to throw in some free accommodation out of sympathy. Beauty! So I rested, charged my batteries and relaxed ready for the short ride into Burketown. So far, the Savannah Way was treating me well. 

                                                                               RIP

                                                                                  What an unimpressive Sate sign!

                                                                 Chicken or 'King Fisher Camp'? Bummer

                                                                            Sarah with her Trolley

      

The Savannah Way

As I looked into the bottom of my finished pint glass at the Daly Waters Pub, I knew it was finally time. Time to leave the comfort of the sealed road and embrace the bumpy existence of dirt roads. It was time for corrugations, dust, rocks, sand-patches, river-crossings, crocodiles, breakdowns and most of all, isolation. It was finally time to get serious, and I was very excited. 

Well first thing's first. The Daly Waters Pub. What a fantastic atmosphere to relax in over a cold beer. I listened to live entertainment which included some fantastic Australian poetry. I met four Kiwi motorcyclists who were on an adventure of their own, and we had a great time laughing over stories and tall tales. They were very humble men who took nothing for granted, and I thoroughly enjoyed their company. 

From Daly Waters I still had three days ride on sealed roads to reach Borroloola - the start of the dirt.

So I pushed out some truly long days down a single lane highway through beautiful woodlands full of bird life and water-ways. 

When I finally reached Cape Crawford after dark I pulled into the Heartbreak Hotel -  the only building in town. To my delight there was a musician playing guitar and singing country songs loudly for our entertainment. However, I felt a little sorry for this man, he was injecting so much life and effort into his performance, but the pub was near empty! Even on a Saturday night, the Heartbreak Hotel will leave you heartbroken. 

Camping here was only $5, so I took a long shower and prepared my gear for the journey ahead. 

I was away before the sun was up the next day riding into the aboriginal community of Borroloola. The sun was really heating up and I was drenched by the time I finally arrived. This was becoming a trend - the days were becoming hotter and hotter. 

A 4WD loaded up with countless drunk locals gave me a hard time on the road as I neared town. They were trying to put my bike on the roof of their car (with no roof-racks) and were grabbing and snatching at my possessions taking everything apart. One man stared into my eyes as he threw all my carefully collected rubbish all over the ground. It was a little confronting. They smelled heavily of alcohol, and I had to think quickly and diplomatically to diffuse the situation. These men were bored, and it was not smart to be in their way. 

When I finally arrived in town I headed to the caravan park for safety and tried to relax myself for the onslaught ahead. The lady in reception made it difficult for me to relax by scolding my plans to ride into such remote areas without a sat-phone. She was a very unfriendly lady, and I was beginning to feel quite anxious about the ride ahead. Such insults would usually be like water off a ducks back, but I began to ask myself whether she was right? Was I being too cocky with my efforts and forgetting a reality check? Was my bike going to handle the rough conditions? Was I too confident in crossing creeks filled with hungry man eating reptiles? Was I going to become just another tourist requiring a rescue mission after insufficient planning? It was too late now, time to grit my teeth, try and get some sleep and push into the unknown with strong determination. 

                                                                          A Bower-bird nest

                                                A little difficult to read, but this is the Heartbreak hotel

  

Oenpelli - The Gunbalanya People

After having a welcome rest in Darwin, I felt mentally and physically prepared to tackle the coming hurdles. My plan was to peddle through the Kakadu National Park with gusto to avoid back-tracking and to avoid some of the heavy traffic that the main highway held. I wanted to ride fast as time was starting to run short if I hoped on arriving home close to Christmas. But like all good plans, things didn't work out quite the way I had intended, and I spent more time then hoped.
Not long after leaving Darwin, I was informed that the 'Stone-Country Festival' was being held in Oenpelli, West Arnhem Land. The timing was perfect and I was very enthusiastic and privileged to take part in a traditional festival that allows non-indigenous people to enter Arnhem Land without a permit - the only time of the year.

I awoke on Saturday the 25/8/12 full of excitement for a spectacular sunrise. But it was not my alarm clock that woke me from my slumber, but the sound of sniffing and rustling from within my tent. I sat up in fright to find myself looking at the head of a dingo sticking its head under the fly of my tent, probably looking for food. It seemed that the dingo could not see me through the mesh of my inner tent wall, so I sent him running in the opposite direction which a loud "BOOO!!!!" I couldn't help myself.
I was camping in some bushes on the out-skirts of Jabiru, and so packed quickly to cross the 50 odd km sealed road to the Arnhem Land border - the East Alligator River. The river was named as such by the early explorer Phillip Parker King, who mistook the crocodiles for alligators. His journal humorously read "On our course up and down the river, we encountered several very large alligators and some were noticed sleeping on the mud. This was the first time we had seen these animals... and they appeared to be very numerous and large, it was not thought safe to stop all night up the river". Believe me this man was right! When I arrived at the river crossing brimming with excitement the wind was sucked right out of me when I noticed a group of people gawking at a water buffalo carcass slowly floating down the river... and what should be hanging on to it with powerful jaws, but five or six rather large salt-water crocodiles! I was then forced to sit and watch this commotion with growing anxiety as the tide was still too high for me to cross.
When the tide had finally fallen low enough to reveal my passage through the river, I wasted no time in asking people to keep an eye on the crocs while I walked my bike through, with water rushing just over my knees. I think they were as nervous as I was. But all went to plan and I emerged on the other side in one piece. I didn't know it at the time, but this was my first crocodile infested river-crossing of many.
Now I realize that I have said this a few times before in this blog, but the scenery in Arnhem Land was perhaps the most stunning yet! The road was dirt and corrugated, the rivers and wet-lands were brimming with the busy lives of all manor of creatures, the sun was beating down and the hills and rock formations were outstanding. Heaven on Earth.
People stopped in surprise as they found me cycling through this rugged wilderness with a grin on my face.
When I arrived in Oenpelli I was very dirty due to the dust from vehicles settling on my sweaty skin. Much to my surprise, I was approached by a white man named Tim, who was a teacher at the local school. He was incredibly friendly and offered me a safe place to store my bike, a jug of cold water, and a blessed cold shower. Lucky lucky lucky!
On first appearance the town looked run-down and shabby. The aboriginals seemed very weary and hostile towards me and the other alien white people examining their home like it were a zoo. It must have been an overwhelming experience for them too. But unlike some of the other white visitors, I tried my best to break the fences between our cultures, and took the time to ask them questions, compliment their home, laugh with them, try their food (barramundi, duck, pig etc. cooked in a coal pit) and even join in a traditional aboriginal dance. In doing this I learned a great deal, I made some truly special friendships and I had an absolute ball doing so.
So for a few short days I was privileged to experience practising aboriginal culture first hand. Two particularly good friends that I made, Johnston and Patsy, tried teaching me some of their language (Kunwinjku), invited me to sit with their family (extended extended family) in the front yard of their house, and even offered me some original aboriginal art that usually sells for a high price as a gift. Unfortunately I had to refuse the art work as they were painted on solid wood and I could not carry such objects safely down bumpy roads, through rivers-crossings and 7,000km's home. Johnson was very proud to inform me that he owns a mobile phone, and we exchanged numbers. I really hope to meet him again some day.
We visited the local pub (only selling low-alcohol beer), where I played pool with the young boys, who I found very shy. But once I was talking with one young man, the flood-gates were opened and they were all very chatty and had as many questions for me as I did for them. Local bands then played late into he night on a stage set up on the football field, and I was pleasantly surprised to find that they were very talented.
I set up my tent on the edge of the billabong and woke for the best sunrise I had ever seen. It was like a post card. I will upload the photos, but please note that they do not do it justice.
My experience with the Gunbalanya people had been one of the best in my life. It felt like when I crossed the East Alligator River I had crossed an ocean into a far, remote country unlike anything I had experienced. I truly was privileged, and I will have the memories to keep.

                                                                          Water Lilly Flower

                                                                      The rough, red road in

                                                                              Jabiru in flight

                                                                         Real Bush-Tucker

                                                                             Lost in the moment

                                                                   Can you spot the croc?

              

Darwin Time!!!

Well if ever I was unsure about crossing the halfway threshold, Darwin had to tick the box. After some 13,200km's on the bike it was once again time to stop, relax and perhaps see what Darwin nightlife had to offer.

Having been on the bike by myself for a reasonable stretch of time has taught me that my own company is not so bad after all. I generally win any arguments with myself, I'm always right and obviously ruggedly handsome. Basic criteria for good company. But in saying this, I was very happy and even a little relieved to be spending the next week with friends. A very good friend of mine - Dave - was flying over from Melbourne to spend some time with me and check out a city he had never visited before, as Dave is from Ireland. Dave and I had attended high-school together but became good friends in the following years. Since then Dave caught the travelling bug and disappeared to work in Europe and travel the seven seas. It had therefore been quite a while since we had caught up for a beer - and beers were indeed in order!

In addition to this, I had also been wildly lucky to be invited to come and stay with my friends Leigh and Steph (from Kalbarri and Kununarra), where they were living - at the indoor rock-climbing center right in the city! The location was superb and the company was better. An unplanned advantage of this was that the floor of the center was foam (soft for falling bodies!), which made an ideal mattress for Dave to sleep on after a long night in the town. I pitched my tent outside where the tropical trees grew tall, the bird life was abundant and the hustle and bustle of a busy city was blocked out completely. A little slice of paradise. It was fantastic to be staying with Steph and Leigh who were such positive, active people. 

And so the week flew by... but we didn't seem to see very much of Darwin. I had a rough itinerary set out in my head, which flew out of the window. Dave had a rough itinerary in his head, which flew out of the window. The main problem was that on the very first night out we discovered an Irish pub called Shenanigans. Every time we ventured out to explore other parts of the town we could hear Shenanigans calling our names and a powerful wind would whirl us back to our favorite seats. It was fate. So we learned to stop fighting it and just enjoyed ourselves. 

We did manage to cook some delicious meals for the four of us, and a pesky french backpacker managed to slither his way into a few of our feasts - Hadrian. 

Dave insisted I try adding styling wax to tame the wild beard growing on my face but alas, it still looked terrible, and ended up frazzled by the end of the night anyhow. Not a great look for the ladies. The lack of an accompanying moustache was an unsavoury look to behold. Dave was a hit with the ladies as usual. 

Dave and I paid our dues in accommodation by spending some time most days helping out in 'The Rock' as best we could. Ranging from assembling climbing structures to washing the dishes, we did what we could. We also took the opportunity to test our skills on the climbing walls when we had the strength and health to do so. Leigh had set up a "hundred holds challenge" which we could compete in quite unsuccessfully. We had a great time trying. 

But of course the stories from Darwin must stay in Darwin, and all too soon it was time to say goodbye to my friends and push on solo once more. My waters were topped up and I felt revived and refreshed. Testing challenges now lay ahead.

I would like to take the opportunity here to thank Leigh and Steph for their amazing generosity and great friendship in Darwin. We had many fantastic nights out and I had the time of my life.
My highest appreciation also goes to Dave, who missed a week of university to sit in a pub and forget his engineering formulas. Dave has since taken on the role as my 'technical support man', or, 'Tech support-McCourt'. His thorough knowledge of computers helped him fix my computer in many ways, and he has since helped me out on many occasions. You're a legend Dave. Thank you. 

                                                                              Steph and Dave about to climb

                                                                             Safely working

                                                                                         Oh dear!

                                                                                Chilly flakes?

                        This poor girl was a 'pedi-cab' driver, a taxi service from a bicycle (I              nearly attended a job interview but decided it was a silly idea). Dave was trying to race her on foot. We ended up good friends with 'Maria' from Argentina.

                                Dave's Irish breakfast, and what a feast! From Leigh and Steph's mobile kitchen.

                                          

                                                                          Goodbye drinks

                

The road to Darwin

The road to Darwin was not too long and I arrived before I knew it. However, there were a few experiences that were worth of note.

My first day of riding after leaving Kununarra was very slow and uncomfortable due to the effects of alcohol in my body from the pub the night before. I was in a world of pain.

The night after I arrived at a rest stop to replace the broken spokes that had snapped without my knowing. It was there that I met Thomas, a 24year old boy riding around Australia from Melbourne back to Melbourne. Sound familiar? But Thomas was different from me in that he prefers 'Thomas', and he is Dutch. Thomas and I got along very well, and chatted late into the night about our experiences and troubles. It was great to speak with someone encountering the same troubles and feats as myself. We were even treated to a roast dinner and a few cold beers by a lovely couple that I had met back in the Pilbara, Bev and Keith. 

When I arrived in Katherine I called an old friend of my dads (he went to school with dad so he must be bloody old!) named Frank. I was keen to have a quiet drink with this man and ask him some questions about dad as a young man. However, unfortunately Frank was in Darwin for a week so it was not to be. He did however tell me to visit the Katherine Country Club for dinner and a drink - on him! 

So I rode to the venue and told the staff my name and Frank was going to pay. Well! They shook my hand and congratulated me on my riding effort so far. I was introduced to the bar staff and told that I may order anything I wish. What service! As it turned out Frank is the head manager and had phoned ahead to ready them. It really was a fantastic dinner!

From Katherine I headed north, camping at different water-falls along the way. One such fall - Robin Falls - was a stunning little camp off the main tourist route, where I met Raymond and Rose. These two characters were truly amazing people and we stayed up around a camp fire with hot stew and talked about nutrition and healthy travelling food. They were very knowledgeable about food. They were also from Spain (Raymond) and somewhere in Europe that I had never heard of before (Rose). Since they both speak English to each other and have lived in Australia for many years, one might think that a high level of English had been achieved... but no, it was terrible. Both the manner in which they talked and the mix of jumbled up words were truly humorous and had me laughing all night.  

I then spent the next few days exploring the many wonders of Litchfield National Park. I stayed at each fall, explored the dirt roads free of my trailer, met some amazing people (again, usually resulting in delicious dinners!) and had a fantastic time.  

                                                                            Only 500km's? Oh dear...

                                                                  Because 110km's/hour wasn't fast enough

                                                                      Toothy

                                                                        Tom and Thomas!

But it was time to hit Darwin City, and my good friend Dave was flying over from Melbourne to meet me! I knew that a great time was awaiting.