Motorbike Travels & Observations in the Lucky Country

Central OZ Autumn Moto-Walkabout

Day One:

I’ve been known to point the old motorbike’s front tyre in a different direction from where I’d thought I’d go just the night before. It isn’t exactly living on the ragged edge, but keeps life interesting for me. I went to sleep the night before my departure knowing I’d be in Port Augusta, South Australia before too long, and the wide open expanse of either the Nullarbor Plains or the red centre would be before me, a crossroads reached and a choice to be made.

Slightly slipping the clutch of the '77 BMW up the steep driveway at Banora Point in Northern NSW, I headed out, the morning sun bright against the blue sky. I had given myself about a month to go walkabout. I wanted to gaze out upon the slow-rolling waves of the Great Southern Ocean near Adelaide in South Australia. Winter was approaching and it could be cold riding down there at that time of the year. I do live my life with variety. I enjoy the distraction of reading two books at once. I can carry on multiple conversations and think I’m giving both my attention. I’ll eat Indian curry one night, Mexican the next. I try not to leave too many loose ends so I had my cold-weather riding clothes packed away in the watertight panniers.

Southbound on a cool but sunny Sunday morning on the relatively traffic-free Pacific Motorway the bike hummed along nicely, my iPod choosing a soothing array of music and keeping me company. I like the distraction inside my head. I was trying to clear away some built up cobwebs and music helps. Sometimes it was rock from Porcupine Tree pounding away, and other times more acoustic sounds from Paul Kelly, or smooth electronica from Zero Seven. The bike felt just right; not too heavily loaded, well-balanced and agile, and the riding gear I’d chosen kept me comfortable against the mid-morning chill.

I’d ride to the Clarence River-side town of Grafton NSW that day and then head up into the low-lying coastal hills towards Glen Innes and the New England Highway. I had no firm plans to make a certain distance, just whatever felt right for the day. It’d been about five months since my last longish ride and the posterior muscles had to be reacquainted with the firm saddle.

The winding route up the Gwydir Highway was just what I needed after the Pacific Highway’s many roadwork sites and large truck traffic. The Gwydir had recently received some fresh tarmac and I was eager to explore the newly-mounted Pirelli Sport Demon tyres’ limits. I was not disappointed. I rate the section going up and through Washpool National Park near Nymboida as one of my favourite roads to ride in Northern New South Wales!  The more spindly lowland hardwood bush land gives way to dense, almost tropical ferns, towering old growth eucalypts  and offers sweeping vistas of blue-hued mountain ranges with every tight turn. The road surface was damp in places as this late in the year the sun can’t penetrate deeply enough into the temperate rainforest to dry the bitumen surface. I overtook a few slow-moving cars and trucks and followed several faster-moving motorbikes up and up until we levelled off on the rolling high plains of the New England Plateau.

Arriving at The New England Highway in Glen Innes I fuelled up on what would be the last of proper 98 octane premium petrol in a while. I ate some lunch and enjoyed a hot cuppa tea in a local café. Turning South amidst the blazing leaves of Autumn I immediately felt the cooler air. I stopped and donned another poly layer, all the better to ward of the evil chill encroaching on my psyche.

The towns of Armidale and Tamworth lie at a higher altitude relative to the coast and I really felt a distinct change in the weather. Grey rain clouds appeared to threaten but in the end didn’t drop anything on me. That night I made Gunnedah and a wonderful camping site that I’ve stopped at every time I’ve ridden this route. The non-heated pool got a miss but the quick hot shower (we are in a 1,000 year drought) melted away the day’s muscle aches. I ate some dinner from an average Chinese takeaway ‘palace’.  It was quite mediocre Chinese food in a large country town washed down by English ale and served up by Korean immigrants with heavy OZ accents and devoured by me, a hybrid Aussie-born/Amurcan!

Sated and succoured I slowly walked back the half kilometre to the site through the grounds of an old stone Catholic church, its grounds dark with gravesites and history, and rested a while on the bench in the darkness, zipping my fleece vest up against my neck to ward of the encroaching night. The Cockatoos carried on just before dusk, gathering as they do in their many hundreds, right above me in the gum trees surrounding the camping ground on the edge of this picturesque but sleepy town. I’d covered about 700 kms.

Coming soon, Day Two: