Confirming that Get Routed are a great company. Dave Milligan personally saw to the safe unloading and release of my bike in Christchurch. I appreciate his going the extra mile to ensure it’s speedy release. He flattered, cajoled and sometimes bullied the Customs people into signing off my Carnet correctly. Highly recommended, just don’t piss him about by presenting a bike  unprepared for export, OK?

I have had some trouble adjusting back to normal domesticity. Work was a bit slow when I returned. Understandably I suppose when you abandon your students for four months to their own devices. So I felt a little under-employed. I forced myself to go on an advertising rampage! Promote my teaching business with adverts in local papers and at all the schools, busking  (every Wed at Farmers Market, Fashion Island, Nelson) playing for charity luncheons (very nice), basically grabbing whatever opportunities presented themselves, including teaching through the holls and (starting today) delivering the Zumo coffee cart to Richmond and back every day. I’m hoping they’ll teach me to make great coffee as well. Old dog, new tricks, yeah!

Me and Glenda are planning an Aussie Outback Adventure starting in July, at the end of the second school term. We’re gonna buy a camper trailer and a truck of some sort and go “bush” for up to six months, getting back for Xmas 2011. We’ve got a hankering to traverse such romantic-sounding trails as the Oodnadatta Track, the Tanami, the Kimberley Ranges, Arnhem Land and the red centre – Alice Springs and the Stuart Hiway. Darwin and the Timor Sea is exerting it’s strange gravitational pull on us too.

After that I’d like to ship my bike to Vancouver and ride up through Alaska, Canada and the Rockies. Having just read Gareth Morgan’s latest travel gospel in South America I’m  keen on travelling there too. Not like he does it though, all highly organised with rider briefings every day and strict team protocols, and staying in hotels and eating out every night. I’m not much of a team player. I prefer to go my own way at my own pace, and camp out and cook my own food. I really treasure my independence, trust my own judgement and love the challenge of meeting the unknown head-on. My sister Sall lives in British Columbia, Canada and I owe her a visit so that seems like the ideal excuse to go exploring somewhere new.

Bluey is relaxing into his new role of city runabout and sometime weekend warrior. I’ve run some injector cleaner through the petrol to help the erratic running. The footpegs are being changed for some chunky cleated items off a WR 250, no more slipping off in the wet or mud. Much wider and grippier. All the headlight bulbs blew simultaneously so they’ve been replaced. The panniers are off and Givi topbox back on for city duty. Otherwise it’s business as usual, and Bluey just waits patiently for the next big trip. I believe a 650 is pretty much the perfect travelling bike. Not too heavy for sand and mud, but enough power and speed for most countries and conditions. I saw on Trade Me a girl’s just returned from a trip around Sth America on her Yamaha XT 250, 20,000 kms and still looks perfect. So you don’t need a BMW R1200GS to go and see the world. All you need is a tough little bike, properly prepared and an adventurous spirit!

Happy New Year everyone. Thanks for dropping by. Have a great year.

The Blog-Health-o-Meter™ reads Wow.

Crunchy numbers

A Boeing 747-400 passenger jet can hold 416 passengers. This blog was viewed about 3,200 times in 2010. That’s about 8 full 747s.

In 2010, there were 53 new posts, not bad for the first year! There were 223 pictures uploaded, taking up a total of 148mb. That’s about 4 pictures per week.

The busiest day of the year was August 20th with 86 views. The most popular post that day was Welcome to Pardoo Roadhouse..

Where did they come from?

The top referring sites in 2010 were facebook.com, mail.live.com, horizonsunlimited.com, ulyssesadelaide.com.au, and healthfitnesstherapy.com.

Some visitors came searching, mostly for joemoreton.wordpress.com, tenere 660, joe moreton, yamaha motorbike crate unpacking, and joemoreton.

Attractions in 2010

These are the posts and pages that got the most views in 2010.

Welcome to Pardoo Roadhouse. August 2010
2 comments

About June 2010
37 comments

Photos August 2010
2 comments

Confession. September 2010

Nebo to Whitsundays. July 2010
8 comments

Bluey ready for the homeward journey.

I was lucky to get a cabin here, normally they only rent cabins for a minimum of a fortnight. My home for the next two nights is among the caravan people, permanent little prefab dwellers, under a motorway flyover and alongside the Wonora River. My cabin is the kind of place where you sanitise your hands after you’ve touched anything. The grime of ages is crusted in the bathroom corners, and the bed looks so suspiciously infectious that I lay my airmattress on top and sleep on that, in my sleeping bag for extra protection. I mention to the manager that the TV doesn’t work, and he just replies “oh the last tenant must’ve taken the aerial, bad luck mate”

It’s been thundering and pouring with a tropical intensity. I cleaned my bike at great expense and inconvenience in a car wash place, then got it filthy again riding home! My fellow caravaners are a mixed bunch. Clustered in this little community (and ostracised by the well-to-do neighbours) are the poor and disposessed, the unemployed and the unemployable. There’s the welfare beneficiaries, tattooed drifters with scars and wild, shifty eyes and sad, lonely old men and women who spend their days smoking, drinking and arguing. My ex-wife always said I’d end up in a place like this! Fortunately I’m not about to become a resident any time soon. Tomorrow I’ll go to the library and get directions to the bike drop-off point in Botany, update my blog on their free internet computers and hang out in town somewhere a bit nicer.

The rain passes and it’s a blue-sky, sunny morning. I walk along the riverbank enjoying the sun, then on an impulse strip off my clothes and go for a swim. The water is surprisingly salty, must be tidal here. Various dog-walkers and joggers look on with curiosity as I flap around in the water, but it’s lovely and I felt the need to wash away the dirt of my accomodation. Really I’d rather be in my tent, but not when it’s pissing down and I’ve gotta get all packed up.

Koala at my camp.

I dump my leaking air mattress in the skip without ceremony, along with my frizbee that doubled as a food preparation surface/dinner plate. Also into the skip went a cooking gas cylinder and some clothes that were dirty/ smelly/ holey beyond their time, then it was just wait for the camp manager to release my bike. He’d kindly offered to store it out of the rain in his garage, and sneakily threw a leg over to see what it felt like. He was quite short though and his feet were dangling in mid-air when he sat on the seat. I tactfully told him that it’s much lower with all the luggage on, and he wouldn’t have a problem with it then. He used to have a Honda XL 500 and has a dream about getting another bike and riding around Australia, if only he wasn’t so busy running a van park and tryin to please his missus and kids.

That's me - hamming it up for the camera.

I join the four lanes of traffic going into Sydney at 7.30am. Keep up, signal, be assertive and don’t hesitate! These are the rules of traffic survival in any busy city. Oh and really keep your wits about you. Having eyes in the back of your head really helps too. (Oh is that what rear-vision mirrors are for?) I found the address of Price and Speed Containers in Pemberton Street, Botany without any drama. It’s almost like they were expecting me! I was directed to the Quarantine storage area where I set to work cleaning last minute grunge, crud and flying insects and bubble-wrapping my panniers. My riding gear went in the panniers along with my trusty boots and tools. The rest went in my red waterproof bag. Then I called a cab for the ride to my prebooked hotel Formule 1 near the airport. Before I left I took a photo of Bluey pre-shipping and said a quiet “thank you” for carrying me safely and so competently around Australia. Nothing fell off, nothing failed to function, always started with the push of a button, and he proved impervious to heat, cold, dust, dirt and abuse and neglect. Fantastic! A fine adventure touring mount. No punctures either. I wasn’t brave enough to mention that before but I can safely say it now.

I left Botany without a backwards glance, confident that everything is done and ready for the trip home. The comfort, normality and predictability of home is beckoning me, and for once I’m happy to welcome it back into my life.

Coast road just Sth of Sydney

Royal National Park, Sth. Sydney

Nice place for a picnic - no crocs here!

Handsome little chap isn't he?

I caught sight of myself in the mirror this morning. Not a good look at all - grey stubble, bleary, squinty little eyes, blotchy sunburnt complexion. Been too long on the road, time to head back to civilisation before I deteriorate totally!

So, resolved to clean myself up I approach the shower block (tentatively – you never know what you might find in these places) and discover it’s one of those that you have to feed the meter to get hot water. Well, okay I suppose, though most are free. I go back for money and insert a $2 coin in the slot for my 3 minutes. Unfortunately it takes me 2 minutes to extricate myself from my bike boots, pants, thermals etc, etc. Naturally I tangle my leggings around the in-built armour in the pants, so I’m hopping round on one leg hurrying desperately to get out of my clobber before the water runs out. Oh no! I realise I’ve forgotten my towel! I do this all the time, I’m such a clot sometimes. So quickly now back into leggings and grab towel from tent. The metre’s still running so it is with relief I get under the hot water and get all lathered up. I’m wallowing in the  indulgent luxury of the hot shower when suddenly, abruptly and without warning the water cuts out. I didn’t bring any more coins so have to abort the cleaning mission and rinse off in cold water. My happy, easy-going  disposition  has definitely gone by this time I can tell you!

Today I take the Grand Pacific Drive north from Bulli and through the Royal National Park. I’m in for a treat. The road is almost empty of traffic and winds through rainforest, woodland,  and heathland on the tops, with an ever-present view of beautiful beaches and cliffs dropping off into deep, blue water. I stop for a photo opportunity by a river with amazing coloured cliffs above, and have a conversation with Manika, who’s taking a walk through the forest. She and her husband run a busy restaurant in Cronulla and are having a holiday soon in Cairns. They dream of buying a bus and travelling the whole country. Just do it, join the nomad movement! There’s lots of casual work to be found if you need the money, and the lifestyle is just grand. All the nomads I met were really happy, contented and relaxed with all the simple things you need for a life of travel. I recommend it highly. Don’t wait, life’s short, it’s a big country. Start immediately! (if not sooner)

I don’t want to leave this lovely spot. I know soon I’ll be out in the chaotic rush of Sydney traffic. Day and night there’s four lanes of traffic, always in a hurry to get somewhere else. Impatient, aggressive traffic. Like any big city anywhere really. I have mixed emotions at finishing my journey. Part of me wants to just do another lap because there’s so much I haven’t seen skirting around the perimeter of Australia. And the more forceful part says it’s time to go home, to which emotion I willingly acquiesce. A return to work and my loved ones beckon.

I share the last of my cashews and macadamias with some friendly cockatoos that alight on my picnic table. They are friendly and good, amusing company (like so many Aussies I’ve met) but the moment is shattered by a magpie which approaches with a raucous “CAARK!” and frightens off my new friends.

I pull my riding jacket on wearily for the last time, say goodbye to the forest, the river and the music of the birds and point Bluey towards Sutherland, Sydney and the roads end.

Springtime near the Alpine ski resorts.

Shortly after this the road was closed with snow!

 I strike out on my own. Mansfield, Myttleford, Bright and Mt Beauty come and go as I swoop along the twisting roads, climbing ever higher until I’m passing snowy peaks and huge perpindicular drops. At Falls Creek the snow is a metre deep beside the road and regrettably my planned onward travel is impassable. The town is deserted in the early evening – where is everyone? A glacier slowly melts across the main road and hotels cling to the side of perilous drops to the valley floor. Back down the mountains I go – at least it’s a fun ride, swinging from bend to bend.

Mt Beauty is my camp for the night, and it’s well named. Lovely mountain scenery, a river full of trout apparently, and great facilities for weary campers. The country’s just come out of 7 years of drought and bushfires destroyed trees, farms, whole villages, swept along by strong winds and fuelled by the tinder-dry undergrowth. Some say the undergrowth should be controlled by er.. controlled burning to remove the fire’s fuel. But for now the country is green, warm and in the full bloom of Spring.

A bird outside sounds like someone cracking a stockwhip. I pack up and get on the road, passing more dead wombats today than you can point a stick at. I thought the Great Ocean Rd was the best road so far, but I might have to revise that after riding the Great Alpine Road. An absolute must-do road for bikers. Simply magic, and for 300kms I’m in motorcycling heaven. The Princes Highway winds it’s way around the SE of Victoria and by Tuesday I’m back where I started in NSW! Riding on an almost deserted road at 7am the road sweeps along majestically under a tall canopy of towering Eucalypts, then out into lush rolling farmland till  I come upon the Tasman Sea again at Eden, NSW.

I had to straighten the handlebars (ahem) after a silly fall off the sidestand while I was checking tyre pressures. My ignition switch has developed an annoying habit of sometimes not wanting to turn on. Just out of warranty, naturally.  Detouring off the Princes Highway I take the slower scenic route through Merimbula and Bermagui, a place made famous by the novelist Zane Grey for it’s marlin fishing (ah-ha!) It’s a fabulous detour, an excellent sweeping road with enough hazards (lumps, bumps, loose metal on corners) to keep things interesting. Lovely rivers and inlets and little harbour towns. A place to linger if you have time.

Back on the main road the traffic gradually builds in intensity. Road works, caravans and traffic lights! Another 500 km day brings me to Bulli, just 150 kms to Sydney. Rain is threatening, horrible towering purple thunderclouds are building up in the North. I take a walk on the surf beach before the spits start and I speed home to the luxurious shelter of my tent.

Aren't I cute?

Great Ocean Road

Me and new friend Pete go sightseeing this morning – lighthouse, fossilized forest, gannet colony, seals, great fishing spots – rock ledges straight into deep water. I also saw my first Koala, crossing the road. Screech to a stop, camera out and Koala very obligingly climbs a small dead tree and sits there looking at me, not 3m away. Very cute, and I’m rapt to see one in the wild. The afternoon is spent fruitlessly trying to catch a snapper off the breakwater. I did get a few half-hearted nibbles, but local fish ‘n chips is excellent so no worries, mate.

I get attacked repeatedly by a very territorial Plover whose mate is nesting on the ground in the van park. So it is in a rather foul mood that I set off for the Great Ocean Road via Warrnambool.  Macrocarpa, old man pines and weatherboard homes give a sense of familiarity to the scenery. The GOR is spectacular. One word. Best stretch of biking coastline anywhere. Great road surface, 200 plus kms of winding roads, sweepers and hairpins. Sheer, crumbling cliffs, surf beaches, rocky ledges, clear water and beautiful native bush. The challenge is to conquer all the corners safely and adventurously while keeping one eye on the scenery. Ha, one eye for the scenery, one eye for the road, and one eye for the dickhead who’s following too closely behind me.

I head into the hills for a cheap wilderness camp on the way to Bambra. Cool gravel road climbs high into the hills and I can feel the air getting colder. My destination is a designated campsite beside a lake. Unfortunately the local 4WD lobby had been there carving it up and turning it into a bumpy bog. I found a flattish spot beside the lake and lit a campfire and put the billy on. I have the campsite to myself and pretty soon discover why. Almost immediately a zillion mosquitoes (at least) descended and I spent the evening swatting feverishly at them. My tent is a safe haven, and I retire early, tired and defeated by the mosquitoes.

A final cross-country run leads me into Melbourne where I arrange to meet Simon. He helpfully leads me through the traffic to his apartment in the central city. Next day was AFL finals (again) so we catch the train out to Simon’s bro’s place somewhere out in the sticks. I’m at friends now, helping out with a bit of gardening in preparation for an important party at the end of the month – er, which I won’t be here for. It’s nice to staying with a family, I enjoy the kids and having a bed to sleep in again.

With my little friends Phoebe and Felicity.

Celebrating a Collingwood victory - god you look evil Simon!

It feels like my journey’s pretty much over. I have my return tickets booked to NZ, just some good riding through the Great Dividing Ranges and along the coast back to Sydney. Dave at Get Routed has my Carnet and will arrange all the necessary clearances for that, I just have to clean all the dirt and myriad dead insects off the bike and present it to the freight company for shipping home, then get myself to the airport at 4am on Saturday. Just as I was fretting about my ballooning Visa debt I get some timely good news from my Accountant. She advises I’m due a tax refund that will almost clear my credit card account! Hooray, now it feels like I’ve just had a free holiday!

On Sunday me, Simon and another mate here Darren, will have a ride out through the hills for lunch, and I’ll carry on heading for Sydney and the end of my adventure. I have fitted a new set of Metzeler Tourance tyres, the Mitas tyres were getting bald and dangerous, so I’m ready now for the final leg.

The Grampians.

Why do I do it? These cunning short cuts always turn out much longer and more inconvenient than the direct route. The plan hatched in the Tour Command Centre (my tent) involves taking a route across country avoiding main roads and including as much gravel, dirt, hills, scenery and adventure as possible. My planned route will take me along the Younghusband Peninsula, then inland through Frances to Horsham, through Halls Gap in the Grampians and on down to the coast again at Portland. As it happened the rain had turned my planned route into a slippery ice-rink and the horrendous cross-winds were a constant threat to my stability (mental and physical!) The gravel roads have been capped with limestone which is now really slidey in the wet and on my nearly bald tyres, and to make matters worse the roads are all severely crowned up with steep dropping-off edges. The only place for me is right on top of the cap in the road centre, but when I meet a roadtrain coming towards me I have to move over which is always fraught with danger and anxiety, as I slip sideways into the ditch.

The Coorong is a long stretch of shallow, inland tidal water with a sand dune peninsula separating it from the sea beyond. It’s highly saline in places and the stench from rotting sea weed (or is it old sea-lions?) has me gagging, even inside my helmet. The wind is so ferocious it’s almost dangerous. It really is hard to keep my wheels in contact with the road! Finally on dusk the wind drops.

Many of the places marked on my map are not towns offering hospitality as I supposed, in reality they are only station names. So no coffee fix today, no wonder I’m so grumpy!. Me and my bike are both filthy again, coated in baked on limestone which proves very difficult to remove. Fire, hot food and the last of a nice bottle of red wine, and all the day’s trials are consigned to an adventurous memory.

I wake a few times in the night from the cold, and I notice that it’s raining. In the field behind my camp a big mob of ewes and lambs are trying desperately to find each other in the dark, so there’s a continuous bleating and baa-ing going on all night. Eventually it gets light. I pack up my wet tent and get going. I sit on my bike for the first 130 km like a big frozen, miserable blob. Through my discomfort and morose mood I notice it’s really good farming country. I take a sealed but bumpy and meandering ‘C’ road through little country villages, still sleeping in the cold wet morning. One place called Goroke had for it’s unique selling point “Southern Gateway to the Little Desert”. In truth at least 12 other small country towns could claim the same dubious distinction. Anyway Goroke was all closed down and shuttered up at 7 in the morning. I rode on through quietly to Horsham where a watery sun comes out as I enjoy some coffee (theme developing here) and an all-day breakfast.

Riding through the Grampians National Park was awesome and everything I’d been told and so much more. Fantastic, dramatic scenery and craggy rock formations, wonderful towering trees, and winding roads just made for motorcycling. The only downside is my balding tyres and the friggin’ cold. But nothing could stop me enjoying this part of the country, it’s magnificent, really.

Heading for Portland I spy an amusing roadsign to a place called “Longernong” – form an orderly queue behind me fellas! Also a place called Wy Wy Wy which inevitably had me singing like Tom Jones for the rest of the day.

Portland’s amazing panorama comes into view suddenly over the crest of a hill. Spread out before me is a long sandy bay, rocky headlands and an interesting looking harbour and port. I’m really here to visit the Maritime Discovery Centre, which is just a short walk along a lovely beach. The centre was very interesting (for me) and well worth the modest price of admission.

Reservoir graffiti just outside Port Augusta.

Sunday. I pack my tent up, wet from a heavy dew. Something’s bitten me on the left forearm, and the arm and hand have swollen up alarmingly. It was to worry me for quite a few days, despite the antihistamine tablets, which also make me even more dosey than usual.

I enjoy a top ride through a twisty pass into Wilmington, then follow a very pretty valley down past windmills, stone houses and hedges and wildflowers. The scent of wild fresias was startling, even the crops have their own distinctive smell. This road leads eventually into the Clare Valley, famous of course for wine production. It certainly is pretty. Small boutique vineyards, picturesque country villages, interesting old shops selling antiques, flowers, puppets and toys, artwork, olde worlde cafes and village inns. Murray Town is having a Farmers Market which attracts lots of thick-set, hardy local types and a few curious tourists like me.

Later I get cold riding through fog while keeping a wary eye out for my little bouncing friends. I grind and squeak to a halt in Mt Barker, a country town with a nice place to camp. Tomorrow I will relieve my chain of it’s misery, and freshen up with new front and rear sprockets as well. Melbourne is 730kms away, but I’ll be taking the scenic, backroad way so it’ll be a bit longer and no doubt much slower. I have a bit of Freeway riding to get to the good biking roads, so I’m preparing mentally for that. I hate freeways. Too big, too fast, too open, too empty and mind-numbing for me. Plus I’m usually the slowest on the road. I just travel at 100-110km/hr and everyone passes me, even Grannys in Mini Metro’s. Fortunately this isn’t an ego trip! I could go faster of course, I just don’t want to.

Unlucky for some - no ferry service.

Smokey bay is cold and grey in the early morning,. Nothing’s open this time of day. The sea is flat and dark. On to Streaky Bay on the Western side of the Eyre Peninsula. Whalers used to process their catch here in a gruesome, bloody ritual. The Southern Right Whale was their target species, and was a huge, gentle, slow moving creature. The whales come in close around here every year to have their calves, socialise, and get ready for their journey to Antarctica for the summer. I watched them at Head of Bight, mothers with calves. Fortunately their numbers are increasing again now, from the point of virtual extinction.

Murphy's Haystacks.

My journey takes me past Murphy’s Haystacks, silhouetted against the skyline in a field of rolling wheat. Technically these weathered rocks are called Inselbergs, and for me they were as impressive as Wave Rock, and I didn’t have to share the sight with hundreds of swarming camera-toting tourists.

The country changes after Ellison from green and healthy farmland into bleak, Scottish-like moors complete with stonewall fences and little abandoned stone crofts. The ground is sparse, treeless and open to the relentless SW wind. I stop for the night at ahem Coffin Bay about 46km short of Port Lincoln at the southernmost tip of the Eyre Peninsula. 436kms today. It’s a lovely sheltered spot with a pretty harbour and reputedly good fishing. Tuna fishing and Oyster farming are the big employers here. There are a few holiday homes and a nucleus of hardy local residents. The fish I catch are all undersize – salmon (same as our kahawai) and Whiting are here to be caught, which I do, but put ‘em all back to grow a little more.

Through Port Lincoln and on to Lucky Bay to catch the ferry across the gulf to the Yorke Peninsula. This cuts off about 400 km of dreary travelling, but alas after a 22km trip off the main road to the ferry depot I discover the ferry is not running until later in the year. Arrgh! They could have put a sign on the main road. Even locals were vague about whether it was running, or will ever run again.

Last night two boys created a bit of a disturbance in the van park. They came in rolling drunk about midnight then proceeded to start snoring very loudly and continuously. There was a commotion a bit later when one of them trod on the other while trying to get out for a pee. I put my ear plugs in and rolled over. In the morning they resumed their drinking, smoking and swearing while they packed up and left, to the relief of all the other campers.

The East coast of the Eyre Peninsula is sleepy windswept hamlets sheltering in little bays, and in between vast tracts of open and (you guessed it) windy fields of wheat, canola or rough grazing for sheep. Port Neil is a deserted place off the main road, and Arno Bay is much the same. Population is optimistically stated as being 250, but I think most have since left. It has a back-in-time feel, most businesses are for sale and every other farm too. Some kids are playing cricket in the main street, and the cafe owner hurriedly clears away her paper and cigarette butts when she sees a potential customer approaching. I feel like the first visitor in years.

That’s more like it! A day of sunshine and tailwinds. I got the urge for travelling and rode right on through Cowell, Whyalla, even Port Augusta. Industrial steel towns with railway yards, grain silos and steelworks creating a jolly ambience. 500kms for the day and I’m heading for the Adelaide Hills. My chain continues to agonise in it’s death throes. Amazing things earplugs. Disguise all manner of mechanical clatterings.