The Long Stretch Eastward

For the last two days I have been rocketing Eastward out of the sun scorched plains of the expansive outback. The torrid sand blasting wind slowly morphs to cooler, moisture laden air as I feel the Pacific Ocean approaching. Riding down the palm lined, twisting roads leading to Byron Bay my tension begins to ease as the aquamarine and dark blue Pacific comes into panoramic view. Byron Bay is as picturesque a beach town as I have seen! Pedicabs hustle up and down the bustling town center lined with boutique shops and organic eateries. A kingly looking white brick lighthouse is perched high atop a rocky cliff side overlooking the powder white sand of the mile long stretch of the beach below.
I find my way to the Mermaid backpacker lodge and party palace. Teams of European, Asian and Australian travelers busily occupy the lobby, slamming cheap shots, performing bad Karaoke and cannonballing into the hotel pool. Its as if I have stumbled into the set of some teen, party vacation movie! That night I toasted many a new friend and as soon as we meet I toast a farewell as I only have one night in this bay side paradise.
Back in my room under the influence of many a Coopers sparkling ale,peaking my appetite, I set out in search of a late night feast! Walking down the still busy late night streets, I begin to contemplate the horrible state of Australian cuisine. Being close relatives of the inhabitants of the British isles, the Aussies have adopted the Brits menu of meat pies, sausages and deep fried meats. Finding palatable meals has been mostly a losing battle. Oh, how I long for my beloved burritos and sushi!!!

Mad Max

Riding toward Broken Hill, my home for the next day and a half, i'm on the lookout for a small mining town called Silverton, known for its generous amounts of Silver ore resting under it's hillsides.Rolling slowly through this modest historical town I spot a peculiar looking vehicle parked outside the newly renovated Silverton Hotel. As I slowly approach, I recognize the black primered, nitrous oxide powered muscle car from the 80's blockbuster movie "Mad Max". This mean looking machine sits on a red dirt driveway, dust caked with the harsh sun beating down on its black scoop mounted hood. Shortly after, I meet the manager of the hotel who tells me a little history of the movie. He says the yanks bought the rights to the movie, redubded the thick Aussie accents with more American sounding verbage, renamed the movie "Road Warrior" then released it with astounding success in the U.S. markets. He also boasts, the hilarious drag queen movie "Pricella, Queeen of the Desert" was also filmed in and around the towns city limits. I dub Silverton, "Tombstone of Australia" due to it's movie heritage.
Later that day, After a very long and dusty trail, I find myself at the historic Day Dream Silvermine, established in 1886 after long veins of silver were discovered below these scorched, jagged hills. I excitedly sign up for the mine shaft tour which promises to take us brave tourists 300 feet down into these dark and narrow mine shafts. After we sign the liability waiver we are fitted with hard hats and battery packs to power our only light source, our helmet lamps. The descent down the first shaft is rough going as an overfed, elder Dutch tourist fumbles his way down dangerously close behind me. I realize I am his only safety net when he will inevitably loose his balance and speedily burrough off into the cavernous abyss. Our tour guide, an ex-proffesional minor, Tells us of the hardships and dangers these minors faced. Minors at the turn of the century worked by candle light, with rudimentray tools like pick axes and hammers. If the minors didnt die from shaft collapse or disentary from the poisonous water, the mine dust containing small fragments of metal would enter their lungs and lacerate the tissues causing a slow painfull demise. Again, I am reminded of how fortunate we all are to live in contemporary times.

Resilience

After 8 days of dirt and tarmac in the review mirror my body begins to feel the punishment it has been dealt. The physical fatigue gives way to mental letdown as infirmity finds a path to my core. Its time to employ my Kenyan marathon runners strategy: run a 5K at a time and not the seemingly insurmountable distance all at once. I have used this blueprint with past struggles and am confidant it will work.
Leaving the Aboriginal town of Marree, I embark onto another long stretch of meandering washboard dirt track. Not long after I begin, I notice a pair of flickering headlights behind me, shadowing my changes in speed. More slasher movie scenarios begin to play out in my over imaginative brain, "American tourist disappears in the outback without a trace" I speed toward the tiny town of Parachina and immediately pull off to the side of the road. The suspect vehicle pulls up to my side, the window slowly turns down, Mengarinne Phil I say in a cracked voice! Phil says hes followed me to ensure my safe passage on the unsafe road. I never would have pictured the image of Mengarinne Phil as my guardian angel. He wishes me a safe and speedy journey and motors off toward Adelaide.
On the ride through Flinders National park I watch the pink feathered wild Cockatoos flutter through the crimson red sandstone cliffs, their piercing squawks echoing through the canyons. I begin to feel invigorated weaving through these ancient and dramatic landscapes on my way to Wipena Pound resort, my lodging for the evening.
Wilpena pound turns out to be a first class resort with posh rooms, crystal clear swimming pool and manicured nature hiking trails. I dont mind paying the $180 a night for the single room with the 50 inch flat screen tv, I think I deserve it at this point!

Yank On A Motorbike

After I rise for the 7th day of my journey, I open the window shades to see some well needed cloud cover for my trek to the outback town of Marree. The 520KM ride ahead will be an all dirt surface and one of the trips most challenging through an area known for Afghan camel traders and date growers back at the turn of the century.
Before I leave the comforts of my accommodations in Birdsville, Sharon the ever jolly manager, rings ahead to tell the people of marree "A Yank On A Motorbike is comin yer way" I later find the cause for concern. The first 300KM of the ride I see not a man made structure, not a car, not a human, just a nervous family of Dingos scurrying across the road. If I were to encounter mechanical failure or take an unfortunate spill it could be days before I was reached! I maintain a steely focus on the ever changing dirt roads through the Sturt Stony desert. One minute I can be cruising along comfortably at a 100KM an hour then the next fishtailing through an uneven path of soft slippery sand.
After a fatiguing 300KM I make a scheduled petrol stop in the hidden town of Mungerannie, so small the fuel stop is the only hotel which is also the only pub. The structure seems abandoned, I gingerly ring the service bell to the hotel. I hear only the wind slapping a loose piece of aluminum siding against the hotels dilapidated walls. Finally a gravely voice rings out from the dark hallway, "How Ya Go Mate?" A truck wide bear of a man with a long tangled beard and head of hair to match emerges. I'm startled a first but his gentle demeanor puts me at ease. He introduces himself as " Mungerannie Phil". He invites me into his tourist famous pub which is adorned with trinkets and mementos from travelers past. Hat's, Id's, broken camera's and even locks of hair hang from the pubs walls and low ceiling. My first thought is how many tourists were seen after their stop in Mengarannie? We talk for well over an hour. Phil tells me of his plans to sell his little desert island and take his Hobie Cat boat to Alaska and hunt black bears. I'm guessing Mungerannie Phil will blend in just fine in the Northern territory.

Birdsville

There are multiple hazards involved while riding a motorcycle in the Outback, the suicidal animals criss crossing the road, the chance of mechanical failure, which would be similar to being stranded inside an oven set to broil and the ever present "Bull Dust" a fine powdery dirt that covers the roadway disguising potholes and creating a glass like slipperiness to the tarmac.
After several hours of navigating detours and animal carcas I arrive in Birdsville, an authentic outback town, complete with a racetrack that bustles with excitement every spring for the Birdsville races. People from all over Australia fly in to attend.
Today, the first Tuesday in November marks one of the biggest days in Aussie sports, the Melbourne cup, a horseracing extravaganza and premier social event. Every shop in Birdsville closes around 1pm for the mass exodus of townsfolk to the Birdsville hotel to view the legendary event on big a screen tv.
That night, Sharon and Dave, the managers of the hotel I am staying at invite me to an authentic Australian BBQ back at the Birdsville hotel. I intensly listen to a man at the bar talk about the best way to round up cattle via helicopter, mush faster and more effective on these massive cattle ranges. We sit outside at picnic tables and eat pork ribs with sausage and cole slaw washed down with ample amounts VB beer!
My new posse of Birdsville townfolk have taken me under their collective wings and treat me as one of their own, interpteting Australian slang and giving pointers that may be usefull on my journey. The Australian's ive met so far, minus the cop, have been incredibly helpfull and hospitibal people. I cant think of a better way to have spent my 40th year of existence.

The Fuzz

After a very nervewracking and disorienting two hour detour I find myself back on a civilized road onto the city of Windorah known for its solar power research. On the outskirts of town sit five gleaming solar shields pointing toward the never ending sun. I check into my cabin style hotel and set out to find a grub n pub, I step through the door at the first of the only two possible pubs in this town of 80 people. Behind me I hear "you moind steppin outsoid" I turn around to see a heavily muscled, stubby man wearing running shorts and construction boots. He was holding out a folding wallet with a shiny police badge dangling at the end of it. Judging by his body language I sense he is exremely agitated. He squacks out "what gives you the roit to roid around moi town helmetless", I then realize I left my helmet back in my room due to the searing heat. He continues "you just topped moi list of most annoying tourists" I attempt to give a sincere,apologetic explanation that is met with more berating and answerless questions. The little nazi is further irritated when I can only produce a learners permit. Im sure the fact im from southern California, driving a brand new BMW and a good foot taller than him didnt help my case. He waddled back to his police truck to push buttons and flip dials. I think "shit, this could be the end of my oddesey, time to problem solve" I spot a Harley sticker on the back of his truck. After what seemed an eternity, he returns, before he can speak I say "I wish Harley made an enduro bike" his expression softned, I asked, "do you ride"?, he answers, "yes" I sense his jets have cooled and I continue to beat his down with and possible commanality we might have. He hesitantly hands me back my lisence and passport and says "have a safe trip and wear your bloody helmet! I thank him and head back into the bar to cool my nerves with a couple of Victoria Bitters, I cant wait to leave this one horse town!!

The Outback

Today is a rest day in the sparsely populated town of Longreach known as the birthplace of Quantas, Australia's first airline. I eagerly sign up for the " secrets of the 747" tour held at the Quantas museum grounds and airport. As we tour the mammoth plane I jump at the chance to have my picture standing inside one of the massive, 6.5 million dollar Rolls Royce engines. Inside the double decker passenger liner im able to survey the innermost most workings of the complicated looking cockpit including the "black box" which is actually orange making it easier to locate amongst charred ruins.
After a quick lunch im off to the "Australian Stockmans hall of fame and Outback heritage center" A first class museum with detailed displays and two air conditioned theaters depicting outback history and exploration. There are many accounts of ill equipped explorers attemping to map and explore this vast and unforgiving country usually met with failure and sometimes death!
Tomorrow, I begin the journey into the "real outback", unwavering heat, unmarked roads and roaming animals are just a few of the possible dangers I will face on the road!

Riding On

When I was a young boy my father would travel most summers to faraway places. He would return like a valiant conquistador with suitcases full of bounty. He would bring wooden dolls and filterless cigarettes from teh Soviet Union, model Porches from west Germany and various chocolates from the Netherlands. He would gather us in the family room for a slide projector presentation of his journies. With a clicking sound each individual slide would fall into place as I eagerly anticipated the image that would illuminate against the white bed sheet hung against the opposite wall. I sat in the dark room in wonderment as my father spoke about the architecture and works of art he saw, the people he met and their struggles. I knew that one day I would see the world like my father had.On the long stretch from Miles to Carnarvon Gorge, endless stretches of single lane black and red pavement lay in front of me. To ammuse myself I would honk my blaring horn at the numerous crows feasting on the endless Kangaroo roadkill buffet, and at the range cows lazily munching on field grass. My efforts were mostly greeted with blank stares. At one crossing 20 head of cattle lay between me and the oncoming road, I slowed my speed and feverishly blew my bikes horn, all but one sped away! as I zig zagged he matched my every move like a skillfull linebacker. Then, finally within a margin of one foot I passed safely.At carnarvon Gorge, an Australian National park, I rented for the night a one person canvas tent complete with a small cot and an electric fan.Immediately after unpacking my things I set off on the Aboriginal art walk trail. The perfectly manicured path led to massive alcoves with limestone cliffs sculpted by millions of years of water trickling down the rockface. Large ponds of water gathered at the bottom framed by dark green moss completed these little pictures of paradise. Running low on water and feeling the effects on my back and legs from the long ride I head back to camp for some well deserved rest.That night at the campground, I meet an older couple from Austria enjoying an entire year on holiday exploring Australia and Africa in their gargantuan Mercedes troop carrier which they had shipped from Europe. On the side of the vehicle was a map of the world with small icons to show where they had been, most of the map was colored in.

Immersion

I awaken startled, disoriented in pitch black, I fumble around for my new G-shock watch, it's set to military time, my languid brain can't make the computation. I decide to rise and prepare for day one of the journey from Noosa to the small mining town of Miles 470 Kilometers away.
My mental preparation begins with repeating the mantra of "stay to the left" I know a simple mental error of driving living like I do back home could result in a shortened vacation!
The busy highways of Noosa slowly give way to calm meandering single lane roads spotted with small dairy farms and roadside honey stands. The air is crisp and damp, I know this will change radically in the coming week.
As I slow my speed to 30 KPH entering the small town of Murgan, I see a congregation of people playing games and picnicking in the towns central park, I downshift to slow my speed, the rear wheel skids momentarily and makes a chirping noise, one of the men looks over and we lock eyes for about 5 seconds, I nod my head, he nods back, I realize that I have seen my first Aborigine.
Back onto the long well paved road outside of Kingaroy I am introduced to the many road trains passing me in the other direction. These are behemoth sized semis trucks retro fitted with menacing, mad max style bumpers made of steel tubing that snake up and around the front grill. Even the passenger cars are fitted with smaller versions of the bumpers. I nickname these "roo whackers" evidently Kangaroos are slightly suicidal and like insects to a porch light, will run over the road then back into the coming headlights.
When these road trains pass, my helmet shakes around my head like a loose bucket and I'm treated to a nose full of whatever cargo they carry.
As the sun starts to set on the lonely sunburnt horizon I pull into the town of Miles, know for its coal and oil mining.
After I secure some meager accomodations in a broken down trailer park, I head toward the town pub and bottle shop to have some xxxx Gold, a very potent and popular Australian grog. In the pub I meet the bartender, a nordicly innocent and attractive girl from Hamburg, Germany, working and traveling her way through Australia. After a lengthy conversation with her I Pick up on the grumblings and icy stares from the coal mining patrons who have decided I've had enough attention from the local, blond attraction, I bid a good night and head back to my ancient 5th wheel for some well deserved slumber.

The Arrival

I keep repeating myself: im in Australia! Im In Australia! IM IN AUSTRALIA! After a couple more surreal moments my intellectual brains meshes with my rudimentary cortex and accepts that after a 14 hour flight on Virgin Australia, I am indeed in the land down under!During the two hour bus transfer up the coastal freeway from Brisbane airport to Noosa Leads, I listen to the Australian passengers speak freely and kindly with one another as if they have known each other for years! I finally pipe in and ask some simple geography questions to which I receive more complete answers than a college professor would give. A heaping bald man in his 30's ask's me "you on holiday mate?" I tell them of my planned excursion through the outback on two wheels. The bus driver tilts his head awkwardly sideways and says "Ahh, bloody hell mate, theres nothin out there but roos and emu's" I answer "that's why im goin" I come to the quiet conclusion they have me figured for another crazy American.After many well wishes and pieces of final advice, they drop my at my destination, Aussie Biker.As i walk through the door of this modest, well equipped shop, I hear "you must be Kevin" I look over to a desk in the corner to see and older, gaunt man with a salt and pepper beard fumbling through some papers. He invites me to sit with him. For the next hour and a half we chat about Moto GP, Triathlons and Hollywood, where he assumes I am from, given my Southern California address. Later, the shop owner, Dave, introduces me to my steed for the journey, an all red 650cc, BMW enduro bike which I quickly name "Eric the Red" after the Viking king who explored and conquered most of Northern Europe several centuries ago.In the early evening I am taxied to my hotel, The "Royal mail" a quaint, antique hotel with paper mache walls add black and white photos of the building in the 1930's before it burned to the ground then rebuilt only to burn again and be rebuilt again. After a quick jaunt around town i'm laying face up on my Pygmy sized twin bed staring at a wobbly ceiling fan creak as it painfully turns counterclockwise. Downstairs is the hotel pub where I hear throaty roars of laughter during a hotly contested game of darts. As I fade into oblivion I contemplate the monumental task that lay ahead and quite possibly the greatest journey I have faced yet!

The Aspiration

As with most of my lofty schemes, this one began well after the 11pm hour with a couple generous pours of syrah. I've heard the stories of lore from Australia: The Box jellyfish has enough poison in its sticky tentacles to paralyze the entire Australian swim team, the Taipan snake can fell a creature the size of an elephant, if a funnel web spider decides to share your sleeping bag it may be your last goodnight!
I'm intrigued and decide I must investigate this habitat and I have to do it with the most favorable method to experience the weather and to survey the land, by motorcycle!
A couple of key strokes later on hotwire.com and my rountrip tickets from Los Angeles to brisbane have been purchased! The next day I reserve my BMW 650cc Dakar enduro motorcycle from a small shop in Noosa on the Gold coast. The itinerary of cities I will travel through reads like a J.R.R Tolkien novel: Birdsville, Wilpena pound, Maree, Longreach, Broken Hill and others.
The total distance of the journey, 5500 Kilometers or 3500 miles, mostly dirt, above 100 degrees and moderately to very dangerous! What have I gotten myself into?