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