Brisbane, Bourke, Broken Hill and back from beyond.....

Christo

Tractor Pilot
Attention! There'll be a bit of coluorful language here, because that's how I express myself sometimes, if that's going to bother you, it's time to move along.

Brisbane, Bourke, Broken Hill and Back of beyond!


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I've found myself a weeks holidays on the roster I told my wife, “what are ya going to do”? She asked.

Dunno, says I it's only a week...........


That was a couple of months ago and just this last week I've been having said holiday, several weeks of mostly late shifts and nights, had pretty much done me in, and the 4 nightshifts I did before my holiday began, had not been particularly uneventful, so by the time I finished at 7am last friday morning I was buggered, listless and unable to make informed decisions, still I had to take the daughter to work and do a few things around the house, and make dinner for the family, and most of this didn't end up happening when I had fallen asleep around midday sitting on my fat arse in front of the tele.

A phone call from Gen asking me to pick her up from work, meant that I only wasted 3 hours sleeping so that's something.

Saturday was a write off, my body clock was buggered, Sunday morning I awoke feeling like I had a hangover, a combination of still not having caught up on lost sleep, and a week of poor food choices............I'm sure it had nothing to do with the bottle of Mr Burge's fine Merlot I'd tossed back saturday night.

But, I was awake at about 6am, and whilst not feeling great, unable to sleep further, and by 10am, I thought blow this, I'm gonna end up wasting another week off!

I packed some supplies and my swag, and a few travelling odds and ends on the Strom, kissed my wife, told her I was heading out to Nindigully for a couple of days of riding and sitting around a fire with some mind expanding liquids, and off I took bearing west.

I made good time up the range and further west until I came to Goondiwindi, feeling like a feed I headed to the Caltex Roadhouse, fueled the bike and then set about obtaining the required sustenance for myself.

A quick word to the wise, for those that are used to city dining, when the waitress looks at ya funny and asks “are you sure?”, when you order 2 roast beef rolls, …...back off a little and say, “well maybe one will do for now”! Blow me down, the rolls were about 14 inches long and each one was full to overflowing with about ½ a cow! Plus Gravy, plus the pint of Iced coffee I got to go with it, and the suspension on the strom was left sagging under the added weight!

While I was struggling my way through a tenth of Australia's 2011 beef production, a trucky walked past and casually mentioned the big storm clouds rolling in from the west..............I looked off in the direction of Nindigully......(remember Nindigully?), and there seemingly right over the top of this place, was a mass of roiling green stormclouds, the type of green stormclouds that any Queenslander worth his salt understands contains volumes of hail, assorted nastiness, shovels rakes and implements off destruction.

My mind struggled to comprehend the impending necessity for a change of plans.......................

I had a look at the bom radar on my phone, and saw the impending doom descending on my intended destination, also saw it's twin devestating the area around Warialda, so I checked my maps and decided to shoot through between the 2 cells. Next Stop was to be Moree.......

.....................Goondi, Boggabilla past the Wobbly Boot, past Camurra and into Moree, in between the line of storms, got a bit wet even though I was in the clear, the winds coming from the sides, threatening to push me into trucks, so I had to move to the left of my lane every time I passed one.

My head wasn't in it, tired and troubled, I couldn't concentrate, it was hot, I hadn't drunk enough water, my arse ached from my first decent ride in weeks, as well as the straight roads giving no excuses for shifting about a bit.

I rode through the main street of Moree, unimpressed, it's a real nothing sort of town bisected by the Newell, lot's of aimless youths roaming about, very uninspiring, I sat down in the park, with a big bottle of water, had a smoke and waited for inspiration, just a germ, the kernel of an idea.........

Fuck it, didn't get one, I wasn't enjoying my ride, I'd been forced to change plans and direction, my head wasn't working and it was about an hour and a half away from getting dark, This'll do me for today!


Half formed and in the back of my mind was the idea I'd originally had when booking my week off, that I'd like to go and see Bazz in particular Lee in Broken hill, there'd been a few PM's on the forum between Bazz and I, and I'd pretty much said I was coming, then I had a thought that maybe it wasn't a convenient time and I sent him a PM to make those enquiries, he sent me a message back to say that Lee would probably be in Adelaide, and that was where we left it.

I found the Mehi River Caravan park, and decided to get a donga instead of laying out in the swag, with all the aforementioned disaffected youth hanging around town, unpacked the bike and emptied the top box, and headed into town.
Came back about ½ an hour later with a couple of stubbies a packet of chips and a cherry ripe, that was gonna be enough after the feast of cow earlier in the day, and besides I reasoned, I had my camping supplies if I wanted something more substantial.

I popped the unladen Strom up on the centre stand and gave the chain a very liberal spray of lube. Have I mentioned the chain yet?

I knew then chain was getting a bit long (pun) in the tooth, but had reasoned that it should get me out to Nindigully for a couple of days and back, without too much trouble, the extra miles I'd travelled were probably stretching (pun again) my confidence, I'd tightened it the day before, and lubed it and with the extra lube, it didn't seem to need any further attention. We'll see how that goes....

Logging onto the net with my travelling netbook, I had a bit of a facebook chat with olbitz, and then headed over to AKRON, to see if anyone was pining for me.
Having a look at my spotwalla thread, it looked like Bazz, and a few others were sure I was heading towards Broken Hill, a germ of an idea..........a recommitment.......a destination!

Still unsure of my mental capacity to make decisions, and the state of the bike, I hedged and said what amounted to nothing.......
I couldn't get to sleep, don't know whether it was the chain, or my lack of mental capacity, or whatever, but it was hard to nod off, and I slept fitfully and Bazz and Lee were on my mind, and at this stage I was still convinced that Lee was in Adelaide for chemo, not recalling that Bazz had told me that she was found to not be a candidate.

I decided I was in a bit of a state, I'm in a bit of a state again while I'm writing all this, the black dog has been snapping at my heels for a while, and I keep turning my back, he's still there though.

1a.m. The following morning I gave up, got the 2nd stubby out of the fridge and sat on the porch of the donga, staring into the dark and had a few smokes and drank my beer.

I made the decision while I was doing that, that I would push on to Cobar the next day, and see how I went from there, at least it was still closeish for a mad dash back to the relative safety of Queensland, but also in easy striking distance of Broken Hill.

Back to bed a few hours sleep seemed to do me some good and I awoke before the alarm at 5:45 NSW time, (which would have been 4:45 QLD time, what is it with me and the hour of “stupid o'clock”?

Since making my plans at 1am I was starting to feel a bit more human, and packing up the bike I'd decided I was going to relax and enjoy the ride and just not give a shit about anything else for a while, fuck it, I'm on holidays, I'm on 2 wheels, and my time is my fucken own.

I left Moree, shithole that it is, with more of a spring in my step, than when I'd arrived.

I'd been given a heads up over the phone from Olbitz that the FarTag was at Collarenabri, so that was to be my next stop.

Was a reasonably early start on my second day left the caravan park at 0730, an up and go stashed in the topbox for when I felt like breaking my fast I took off down the Gwydir highway, once out of town it turns into 110klm zones, and away I went, the weather was fresh, the sort of fresh spring day I remember from when I was young, and as the country opened up outside of Moree, you could start to see the sky, I'm not talking that thin sliver of blue that we get on the coast we're looking at big sky country here, where the blue takes up most of the view and the air looks like it's been scrubbed clean, my heart felt cleaner just looking at it and the riding was becoming easier.

A couple of Emus looked up as I rode past, and the smell of roadkill both fresh and fragrant started to assail my nose on the bends. Grasses and blooms everywhere, this was not the Collarenabri I remembered from a years back, should be yellow and dun coloured, instead there was greens and purples, and buttercup yellows. My country looks like it has a new life after all these years, maybe there's hope for me yet.

The fresh temperature, the easy riding, the sights and smells started to lift my spirit, so much that I forgot my mission in Collie, and after fueling up and a downing my banana up and go, and having a smoke, at the very place I should have taken a picture for the FarTag, I insinuated myself the short distance out of town and started the rhythm again, this was where I was meant to be, right there, right then.

From Collie onto Walgett, and not needing fuel or comfort stops, or the conversation of mortals, I wafted straight through town and kept going, back to 110 on the GPS, back to the rhythm, comfort in the practices of 30 odd years, digging the moments.

The site of 2 Emus at full tilt next to the road on the other side, brought me into the here and now, because here were a couple of V8 chooks, and now they were looking like doing something stupid!
I started to slow, and they came further towards my side of the road, doing 50 now and still coming up on them, one decided to veer away from my side both of them still running the same direction, I slowed further, doing 30 now the one went across my future path, and for moments he was running along side me, keeping pace and looking back over his wing directly at meas I kept slowing, I had a vision of some bloke walking down the road looking backwards at a good looking shiela, and smacking the side of his head into a pole, and I actually chuckled, until that was strangled in my throat as the idiot bird decided to throw himself back in front of me, in an effort to rejoin his mate on the other side of the road, I hit the picks. He got aound me, and shot me a look that said I win! Well ya can have that one, ya big stupid emblem of our land!
Soon after, Brewarrina filled my Visor, another uninviting town, another mob of disaffected youth, this time kicking a football back and forth across the highway in front of the pub, a well aimed kick landed in the middle of my lane, just before I was to be in that same physical space, and I need to swerve to avoid it, I heard a low growl from several of the youths, and just rode straight on, I get the impression, that they don't like us, and they don't even know me, and if they did know me I'm sure I would be nothing but fair and friendly to them, but they'll never know that, because they've decided that we're all the same, the same as we've decided about them, my previously pleasant mojo, began to darken. I hate generalisers. Just past town was a place to pull up, and asingle tree provided shade, which although the weather was still pleasantly cool, would save my face, which had already started to sunburn.
That made me think of my Paternal grandmother, she of swarthy skin and dark hair, and equally dark temper, her little button nose flaring at the nostrils when she chased ya with the broom, how back then we were told that she came from Gypsy stock, but it was whispered, that she'd been born with more than a lick of the tarbrush! Another family secret destined to remain so, like the Picaninni half siblings in PNG, fathered by my father after he left us.
A couple of ants at my feet, tugged for control of something that both felt a perfectly legitimate right to control, and got nowhere.

I drained the last of my water from the bottle, repacked it in my pannier, nipped the end off my cigarette, and mounted the bike, to continue the journey to Bourke.
 
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Christo

Tractor Pilot
Thanks for reading so far blokes, still afew days worth of the tale to go, just gotta get finished in the yard, do some gutters before tonight storm, I replaced the tap in the kitchen yesterday so that won't slow me down, and then I can get my shit together and finish my story.

I'll get back to ya's later, and put up a few more pics as well.
 

Christo

Tractor Pilot
Back into the rhythm, 110k's on the GPS, checked the moving average 94.7k's, 2nd day on the road is getting easier, still my thoughts are all over the place much like this story, I'm thinking on the past, sometimes the future, coffee! There's no excuse for bad coffee, and the prices they charge, CRIKEY! Must be about 30 cents of ingredients in a cup, and they charge ya $4.30! Takes about 2 minutes, once they get around to your turn, and that makes an hourly rate of $120.00 for a cup of bloody coffee! Even then ya gotta be lucky to get a truly decent cup.

There was no chance of getting a decent cup of coffee in the areas I was riding through, coffee culture hasn't arrived there yet, and let's face it, I wasn't on a latte ride.

Riding away towards Bourke, the cadavers of nocturnal wanderers lining the roads, testament to the need for goods to keep Australia going.

I arrived in Bourke to no fanfare, but a fair sort of town to have a look at, had a bit of a poke around, did a couple of mainy's to check out the social scene, and stumped up in a public park opposite the TAFE, and diagonal from the Police station.

My camp kitchen which lay in my right pannier unused and unloved, was released from bondage, cuppa tea time.

Gas stove twirled onto the cannister, and spark ignited, I filled the billy from one of my bottles of water, (Moree was the last place I filled 'em, so it was Moree tea in Bourke). And got my brew on.

This is not an Iron Butt ride, it's not even a FarRide, it's a personal voyage of discovery, a bit of me time, with a bit of time for others thrown in, I had decided to stop, and brew up whenever and wherever the mood took me, just settle the **** down mate. Life's too quick as it is and no-one gets out alive.

Some words from Alexander Solzhenitsyn keep coming back to me......”Own only what you can carry, and let your memories be your baggage”.

At 52 years old I have an incredible amount of baggage, the panniers of my mind are filled to overflowing on this trip, work, friends, family, pressures, past regrets, future disappointments....they're all there, and spill out at the most random inopportune times.

My thoughts as I got closer, were turning more and more to Lee and Bazz, we all know the story there, so I won't go into it, suffice to say I'm devastated for both of them, my wife and I had only spent a scant few days with Lee, when they came to stay with us in Brissy, but she had stolen our hearts, and even without the years of mateship from Bazz, Lee would have been our friend, we have a way of finding those that will mean something in our lives.

Out of the blue, while waiting for my tea to cool, I picked up the phone to check in with Bazz.

Bazz took my call even though I'm sure he had things going on at the time, and we had a chat, Lee was home, and doing well, had I not taken any notice of the bad news about the chemo? Well yes I had, but with my head so far up my own bum, it's hard to relate that to her remaining in Broken Hill, my mind was made up, they didn't so much need me there, as I needed to be there for them, and I was going to fill the need.

Still I could not commit to Bazz in words, that I was definitely going to be there, what if something went wrong, bike broke down, had an accident, the big dark hound biting my arse, and making it hard to move forward? Would I be a disappointment?

I left it at “gonna head down the Kidman way to Cobar, before dark, and see how we go from there”. I knew I was going to Broken Hill, Bazz knew I was coming, but it just couldn't be said.

Just over 2 years ago, Bazz had come to stay as he sometimes does, on his way somewhere, from somewhere else, LD riding, keeping the dream alive, we'd organised some of the AKRON members, to come over for a BBQ, and meet up with Bazz, some had met him before, others hadn't, but they all would come to meet our chief, our administrator, our benefactor, and of course to chuck down sausages and steak and have a few Bevvy's.

It turned out that week that we buried one of my best and longest serving mates.

Mick and I had known each other since we were about 12, I'd met him as a result of his cousin Eric, who I've been mates with since 6 years old.

I was a Blacktown boy, a westy, from a fractured family, with a lot of problems that I didn't realise or admit existed.

Mick and his family were from Pymble, monied, landed gentry, toffs!

I was never jealous of his existence, and he never looked down on me. With Eric and Mick, and Mick's 2 brothers Andrew and John, we made a fairly tight little group, we went camping and caving, and bushwalked, and sat around fires playing guitars and singing and drinking and over the years reminiscing about the misadventures that we'd found ourselves competing for.

Over the next nearly forty years, I found my self losing touch with the boys for sometimes a couple of years at a time, I went and worked overseas, and travelled Australia fruitpicking and contract working, and went to the Middle east, and when I needed that steadying influence, a kind word a big smile, a huge welcome, and a bloody good night of drinking and joking about, there was always Mick.

Mick hung himself the week before Bazz arrived, and the funeral was on the Friday, I had Andrew and Eric and Erics brother Bruce around, we were all devastated, by what had occurred, I mean this was Mick, I don't think I ever saw him without a smile on his dial, he was the go to guy everyone went to for sage advice and a bit of positive affirmation. How does someone like that hang himself?

2 weeks before the event, he'd sent me a text message, basically a “just checking in how ya going”, which because of my busy schedule, I'd not replied to at the time and then forgotten.
Had I forgotten Mick? Was I not there to tell him we could work whatever it was out? Had I been a disappointment? Could I have helped him through his bad patch?

All these things were going through my head as I girded my loins and did battle with the Goaty hordes on the Kidman way, and I arrived in Cobar before I realised I'd left Bourke, dtermined more that ever before, that I was gonna show Bazz and Lee, that they were thought about and not forgotten, even though they are far away.

Cobar's a nice little Place, on the edge of the Plains, interesting historical, spread out and diverse, and industrious place with it's new found (or re-discovered) mining.

The mining contractors had taken all the cabins at the Caravan Park, and most of the Motel rooms, there was a vacancy at the Copper city Motel, so I booked in and had a long hot shower, turned the aircon on to cool the room, and headed over to the Returned Servicemen's club to get some take away and a drink.

Taking my food and beverages back to the Motel, I ate, flopped around on the internet, watched a bit of tele, and surprise surprise fell asleep around 8:30 pm.
 

glitch

Mapping the next ride...
Staff member
Whoww.....outstanding stuff!! :eek::eek:


That's one of the few RR's that doesn't really need pics...take your time, mate, this is a bloody good read!! :thumbs::thumbs:
 

Christo

Tractor Pilot
I woke reasonably early tuesday morning, actually looking forward to getting going, the first day of the ride to do so.

I'd had a message from Bazz, to send him a text when I got to Little Topar, to let him know when I would arrive in Broken Hill.

With only 4 or so hours to ride that day, and not wanting to arrive to early as I knew Bazz would be working I dithered about, made a 2nd cup of coffee, and as I'd forgotten to lube the chain the night before I popped the bike up on the centre stand to lube the chain.
The chain was sagging more than I would have wanted, so with the bike still unpacked, I took a few minutes to re-tension it.
Satisfied that I'd done the job and making note that the adjustment was to the 4th last notch, I clicked the Givi panniers and topbox into place and strapped on swag, stool and camera monopod. Gave the chain a lube while the bike warmed up and I drained my cup of coffee, dropped my key into the office, and set off in search of Fuel.

Before I left town there was a text from my daughter....”Dad the cat has a tick, and there's a big storm coming, everything turns to shit when you leave!” , Daughter being at work, I rang my wife, “how much longer you going to be away?” “Couple more days love”, “The tap in the kitchen keeps leaking”, “I'll put new one in when I get home, seeya in a couple of days”, ”OK, be careful, stay safe”. My reasons for coming home, nice to be wanted.

Fuelled up, I left cobar diminishing in my mirrors, I felt good, it was great to be living up to my word, a couple of times I'd wanted to visit Bazz in Broken hill, and I had failed, the last time was only a few months back when we all thought Lee was still fine, and I ended up visiting with my mate Eric and his sick wife in Townsville instead. Another story, this one I might keep to myself for a while.

Out on the open road the sky was huge, it fills you vision and you think you could just ride on for ever, the grass covered plains stretch away and curve out of site in the heat haze and the few trees in the distance look like island in an inland sea.

Henry Lawson famously described the outback as...”Mile after mile of shit coloured **** all!”, Henry would these days be driving a car, with the windows rolled up, aircon turned on, music pumping and totally disconnected from his surroundings, there is much to see if you look, not just the wildlife, but the changes in rock and grass, the spider webs hung between the low scrub, the changes in vegetation.

There's a lot to see out there, most cannot find a reason to look.

I'd been warned by the Barmaid at the club the night before not to stop at Wilcannia, and when I enquired the reason for this, she said there were bad people who did naughty things, I assumed they'd try to steal your bit and bobs, and thought prudence should dictate a top up before and maybe after, to get me to Broken Hill.

Miles and miles of low scrub, stunted trees and goats, emus and the smell of fresh and old cadavers, and suddnely there was a building at the side of the road, I realised this was the Emmadale roadhouse and pulled in to top up there.

Emmadale is an Oasis of civility in the middle of nowhere, proper unleaded fuel and get this an espresso coffee machine!

Too much to resist and not being under any pressure of time, I ordered a coffee and took this steaming mug of caffiene laden perfection out the front to enjoy it with a smoke. Bliss, best coffee I'd had in days! It was here I was asked the strangest question of my 52 years, well at least the first time I'd ever been asked, the Propritess comes out the door, fixes her gaze squarely on me, and says “have you seen a man with a shovel?”, strangely enough I had, and indicated the direction he'd taken, but what I quietly wondered was the shovel for? And should I be worried that he'd decided that was the time he needed it?

I never found out what the shovel was for, but I needn't have worried, for all were in an effervescent mood being Cup day and all.
 
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