Fantasy, Fantasy and a Pesky Neighbour

It's funny how things work out – one minute Sandra and I are about to set off across the Gulf Country for the 2,700k trip to Cairns; the next she is on a plane back to Sydney leaving me to do the trip by myself.

The Sydney trip was for several reasons but I suspect the real one was Sandra was missing her grandchildren and couldn't resist an opportunity to see them, if only for a few days. She set off on the 1.15am flight from Darwin to Brisbane, then picked up a flight to Sydney with the intention of staying for ten days then flying up to Cairns where I will be waiting to whisk her off back to her tent. There we will re-group and resupply before heading north, probably towards Cooktown.

I should have realised that Sandra was getting a bit broody about the kids as, when Gill's friend Vickie appeared at the house a few days ago with an orphaned kangaroo Sandra immediately adopted it – a grandchild substitute?

Sandra with the orphan

Keeping a firm hold of the tail - it had just escaped!

With Sandra safely aboard the Tiger Airways flight I headed back to Humpty Doo, grabbed a few hours sleep then packed up and hit the road. Although I had ten days for the trip, I wanted to arrive in Cairns at least one, if not two days, in advance of Sandra to get a suitable camp set up – I also wanted to allow myself a couple of days for sight seeing on the way, which gave me six days travelling time. Therefore I needed to do around 450k a day, much of which would be on dirt roads.

The first uneventful leg took me to Mataranka where I camped at Elsey National Park. Next up was the Roper River Road which was the source of much angst four years ago when we were seriously bogged down in some very serious crocodile country. I had however promised Sandra not to go off the main dirt roads and only to go to “proper” campsites – and I really did mean to keep my promise – honestly!

This time around the road was relatively benign with none of the mud of our last trip. Although there was the usual rough surface, corrugations and bull dust, the only water hazards were the creek crossings. Having crossed one creek I was slightly caught out after short distance with what I thought was a shallow puddle – it wasn't – a fact I realised when a bow wave of brown water came over the car bonnet! Even the road to Port Roper appeared to be open as a new sign had been erected – I was very tempted to give it a shot for old times sake but, remembering my promise to Sandra, I gave it a miss.

It was deeper than it looks

Smart new signs for Port Roper - wonder if the road has been resurrected?

Looking for somewhere to stay for the second night I stumbled upon Lorella Springs. It was a long way off the beaten track – in fact the track was very un-beaten – and a number of gates had to be negotiated. I'm not sure if I was elated or disappointed when I finally made it to Lorella Springs – the photo probably says it all! Lorella Springs also sold the most expensive petrol of the trip so far – an eye-watering $3.00 per litre!

It could only happen to me!

 

Day three saw me having brunch at the Heartbreak Hotel at Cape Crawford before re-joining a sealed road for the 100k or so to Borroroola where I intended to park myself for the night. The attraction of Borroroola is all in the name – the reality didn't entice me, so I set off towards the Queensland border about 300k away. I didn't really think I would get there before nightfall – and I didn't.

It was back to a dirt road, bull dust, corrugations plus the odd bush fire – and creek crossings, lots of them. Whilst most of the creek crossing were little more than a bit of a splash, one or two were a lot more significant and I would not like to have been crossing them in a two wheel drive car – never mind a motorbike!

The odd bush fire

Yet another creek crossing

At this point I would like to take you back to my lustful teenage years to a film called “Girl on a Motorcycle” which will be forever etched in my memory – not for the storyline as I can't remember a thing about it – but for Marianne Faithful (or someone of that ilk) sexily poured into motorbike leathers and riding big motorbike (just hold that image for a moment!)
 

A big crossing

Arriving at yet another creek crossing I noticed a motorbike marooned on a small island to one side of the crossing. Not wanting to swamp the cyclist with my bow wave, I stopped to allow them to continue – however, they dismounted and obviously wanted me to go first, which I did, with no real drama. I thought I'd better wait to see that they managed to make it and, as I walked back to the waters edge, they started to cross but half way over foundered as the engine cut out. Dismounted in midstream and unable to push the bike across I suggested I throw them a rope to pull them out. At this point the current got to be too much - the bike started to topple and there was a cry for help. Debating for only the merest second or two whether I should take my shoes off to keep them dry, I threw caution to the winds and waded in – shoes, socks and all – and managed to get to the bike before it and rider were totally submerged. When stable but still in the water with two of us holding up the bike, the rider removed their helmet to reveal it was a girl – that is when I had my “Girl on a Motorcycle Moment” (although I'm sure when Sandra eventually reads this, she will refer to it as another “Dirty Old Man Moment”)

"Girl on a Motor Cycle" - after having been dragged out of the river

 

Good Bye Bernadette

This was Bernadette, a nurse, who had been working for the past ten months with Aborigines in a community in the Tamani Desert and was now making her way back to Innisfail in Queensland – and she was exhausted. We eventually got her bike started again and off she went. I met up with her about 20k later, she had just successfully crossed yet another creek, but was giving up for the night and was going to bush camp at the side of the road. I didn't feel too bad leaving her when I noticed a few more people bush camping in the area.

I pushed on for another 40k or so and as I type this I am in my tent bushcamping by the Calvert River, which I will need to cross tomorrow. Luckily my camp is raised above the water so there shouldn't be any trouble with crocs – and I'm not daft enough to go out for a moonlight swim. Mind you, I have other things to worry about closer to hand as I am not the only one camped here – there is a resident mad man!

In addition to myself, there are two couples camping in the near vicinity plus this single guy who, although he is probably just lonely or has mental health problems, insists on attaching himself to anyone who will listen to his rantings. When no-one is prepared to listen, he walks around the site ranting to himself. It would be quite amusing, not to mention sad, however as I type there is a full moon and I can hear mutterings outside my tent and I'm not too sympathetic towards him at the moment – I hope the bugger doesn't have an axe!
 

That's him on the left

Good Night.