Sounds like an Eagles song title, and yeah it was a bit like that.
378kms have passed before I find a place (any place) to stop. The road stretched on ahead endlessly, and every little crest or bend reveals a mirage at the horizon where the road disappears into the sky. Today I have a brisk wind off the starboard bow, so I’m close-hauled heading SW for Port Hedland. Yellow and white flowers begin to appear on the roadside, and the trees are all stunted and twisted, and their trunks are bleached white by the constant lashing of the salt-laden wind. Sand dunes of the Great Sandy Desert appear on my left and I roll into the Sandfire Roadhouse at 2pm just in time for brekky. Three grim dudes are preparing to move out on their bikes. They seem tired and silent, as if the effort of being tough and macho is starting to overwhelm them. Funny how guys always get so competitive when there’s a group, I’ve never been much of a team player, prefer to set my own pace and agendas.
An interesting guy on a BSA 650 is riding to Normanton. His wife drives the car and pulls a little caravan. He tells me the old bike handles gravel and sand roads with ease, better than many so-called dual purpose bikes. Great to see a classic bike actually being ridden as intended.
A tent site at Eighty Mile Beach is $30 so I press on to the next place, wherever that may be. I need to send my SPOT signal before it gets too late, I know Glenda (and maybe others) waits anxiously for each evening’s signal. But I’m 4hours behind NZ now in WA, so it’s getting late at home, and I don’t want folks worryin’.
Pardoo Roadhouse is a grim place full of unsmiling and distinctly unfriendly locals. A dog snarls at me outside, and the reception inside is about as welcoming. The souvenir T-shirts say Fifo “Fit in or F#*@K Off” at the Pilbara. Pretty much sums it up. Obviously I don’t fit in so I have a beer quickly and get the hell out. And there’s no cellphone coverage to compound my misery. A generator howls outside all night, and one poor camper got the sprinklers turned on his tent site. What a cheery place! I’m pretty bushed after 547kms today, and you can tell this sort of reception is challenging my sense of good humour.
sal said head to the coast on little backroad. it’s neat…me thinks you are far gone now……lol from pardoo
Lo Joey, Pardoo sounds absolutely charming! Sounds like you had a lucky escape! I don’t wait as anxiously as I did before to hear from you each night, as you could say I’ve lost a little confidence in young SPOT…mainly after he decided to have two nights off without letting anyone else (including yourself) know. You and I could be like the couple with the caravan. Ive booked us a campervan to mooch round south of Perth, but you could take Bluey, and I’ll follow behind, that way you can go awol when you see a dirt track! Alternatively you can ride in the camper, and wind the window down with your head out for awhile if your missing bluey….Cant wait.. Love Boo