Ténéré Tragics: Ride to the Rocks - March 2011 (Part 3)

I thought last night's trip was cold.

This morning was colder.

As I headed north-west out of St Arnaud I didn't regret retaining the thermal layers of my riding jacket. I knew the day would be getting progressively warmer. I dislike removing riding gear during the day to adjust for the weather. I'll put waterproof stuff on if it rains & take it of when it dries out - but that's it. So I was hoping a little that it wouldn't get too warm.

 Thirty kilometres out of town, 616 indicted that she'd emptied the main fuel tank. 525 km since I last refuelled. Donald was the next major town about 25 km on. I stopped at the BP centre and refilled with 19.5 litres of Premium 95. Fuel consumption seemed OK at about 28 km/litre. I checked the chain adjustment - too loose. So I cracked open the tool kit and, with school children looking on, proceeded to tighten it one click & apply a liberal quantity of lube. I should have done this before filling up as it was now VERY top heavy and difficult to move around or balance. Pretty awkward looking!

I decided to hang out the 130km from here to Hopetoun (via Birchip & Beulah) before brunch. At the time it looked like a good idea. The route had been determined by road closures resulting from flooding around the Yarriambiack Creek, which flows through much of western Victoria. There was a lot of standing water around. When sitting stationary the mosquitoes also indicated this.

About 5 km out of Donald, 616 started misfiring and loosing power. "Why now", I thought to myself. It got to the point that she'd barely do 60 km/h. I stopped to check wiring and other possible causes (especially anything I'd moved while adjusting the chain). I got back on and persisted. Birchip slowly arrived and disappeared in my mirrors. I was heading into a 40 km/h headwind now. Low power & headwind combined had me struggling to get 70 km/h on full throttle. It was different to how she was behaving before, which was more like overheating. Eventually, we reached Hopetoun where I was hoping that a break for refuelling my belly would allow her to cool, if that was needed.

The Hopetoun Bakery was open and the lady serving seemed truly happy to see someone walk in the door. I ordered a couple of sausage rolls, a six pack of bread rolls and a cappuccino. "Sorry, only white coffee here", she says. "That's OK", I reply.

While feasting on my 'on-the-road-degustation' I walk around town. The old Hopetoun Shire Hall has a list of young (and probably older) men from the district who had died in the World Wars. A long list that would have taken a stonemason many days to complete. Too many for a place in the middle of nowhere. I count the WW1 victims - 69 - many of them 2 or 3 sons from the same family. A generation lost to the local farm families. A hidden tragedy repeated in so many Australian country towns. A cost that city dwellers do not, and will not, ever understand. Tears well in my eyes and I turn away, ashamed that humans can do this to each other, not just then but now, in so many places around the world. I think of their 'adventure' all those years ago and compare it to my half-hearted attempt. I feel completely inadequate.

616 takes a break in Hopetoun while I refuel. Parked in front
of the newagent she got plenty of attention from locals!!

It takes me 10 minutes to get back to the bike. The local senior constable is checking out 616, after he has picked up the local paper from the newsagent I parked in front of. "It's in good nick, mate", the copper says. "Where ya goin'?" he adds. "Arkaroola, South Oz", I reply. "Gee, I hope she keeps runnin' for ya - she's a bit old isn't she". I wave off the concern and suggest that she's just been rebuilt and won't be a problem. "Good luck to ya anyway, and ride safe won't ya mate". Then he got back in his 4WD and drove off.

 I put my gear back on, kicked 616 back into life and headed for Loxton 300 km away.

 A quick trip up the road is Patchewollock, and it is here I have decided to plan a 'short cut' across to Underbool through the eastern edge of the Wyperfeld / Big Desert National Park. The plan is to get some dirt road practice (including some sand work) before I get to far from home. It is about 60 km of what should be "fun".

I attack the first 10 km, which is hard packed clay, as if it were bitumen. The Australian Plague Locusts make their presence felt for the first time on the trip. I can, literally, see them sitting on the road and jump right at me! The centimetre thick layer of sand creeps up on me during the long straight section - I realise its effect when I try to stop at a road junction. It reminds me of ice-dancing!

 A quick right turn then another 50 km of 'roller coaster' road alternating between clean hard-pack and 15 cm of soft sand. Many are drifting dunes that have spread across the road, often on corners. My off-road riding skills, once finely honed, have become very (VERY) rusty from disuse over the past two decades. I have a couple of serious "near misses" that scare me silly and sap my confidence. I take a short break after the worst of them. Sitting there I remind myself that I am not in a hurry, that I clearly am NOT the rider I used to be, and that if I come off and hurt myself it could be some time before help arrives. This becomes my mantra for all of the off-road sections for the next 4 days.

Interesting enough the western Victorian township of "Speed" has renamed itself "Speed Kills" for the current month as a promotion for the State Government road safety campaign. It is only 30 km to my east.

I deliberately cut 20 km/h from my average speed, stand up a lot more than I have been (which isn't comfortable with this bike ergonomics) and attempt to load the front wheel more to make it steer better under power. Thankfully, 616 is running a lot better now, and she feels less top-heavy now that her tank is nearing half full.

The remaining 40 km goes without major incident, which reinforces my strategy and boosts my confidence, which is very necessary in this type of riding. I feel more "in the groove" now.

I turn left onto the Mallee Highway and ride the boring 60 km bitumen stretch into Murrayville. The a collection of grain silos and a railway siding called "Boinka" always makes me smile though! The guy naming it must have had a spring fly off his cart there...

I refuel with Premium 95 at Murrayville so that, just after crossing the state border, I can take the truck detour road through to Loxton - bypassing much of Pinnaroo. Again 616 refuses to run properly after a refuel. She's missing and carrying on. I loosen the fuel cap, thinking that the small air gap after the refuel creates a vacuum as the fuel level drops. No change. I just treat her nicely for the 130 km to Loxton. She improves progressively along the way.

It is starting to get hot now and my hands are sweating in the winter gloves. It makes them very hard to get on and off. I stop in Loxton for refreshment and to stock up on water - I stuff two 1 litre bottles in each side pocket of the 'A Bag'. I leave the gloves in the sun to dry out a little. My summer gloves are, unfortunately buried in my bag.
While drinking the contents of the 1.25 litre Coke I also purchased, I sit a chat to a nice older man who is laying pavers in an area of the central median strip parkland.

"The Paver" seems glad to have a reason for a break and to retreat from the sun for a few minutes. We chat about local government decision-making, the pitfalls of local business in Loxton and he suggests a good way for me to get to Cadell. This is where I'll cross the mighty Murray River, which has recently flooded large areas of Victoria in the last few weeks.

The trip through Waikerie to punctuated by massive olive groves - this area also hosts the biggest grove in the country. Where once Navel oranges grew olive trees now stand - and Australia now exports olive oil to the countries that were competing with the local orange growers. Strange economics - it seems the only ones winning here are the shipping & oil companies along with the climate change lobbyists.

Fortunately these vehicle ferries are part of the national road network and free. Otherwise you wouldn't pay the ferryman until you get across
 - to quote a popular song.

The Murray River carrying huge volumes of water. It has
flooded vast areas of Victoria in recent weeks. This is
just part of the normal "cycle of life" for the mighty Murray.

The Murray River is swollen well past where it has been for the past 15 years. The vehicle ferry is well adapted to the vagaries of the river and just chugs across, following its rope line. I share it with a pair of 4WDs. I am amazed at seeing the roadway just dipping straight down into the water below the ferry.

It is nearly 4:00 PM by the time I disembark the ferry. I have 97 km and an hour to get to Burra before the the local Visitor Centre (who rents out the local cottages) closes for the day. I get a move on. Out through Morgan & past its local motocross club - resisting the temptation to take the Ténéré out for a blast! Then a late afternoon blast along the Morgan-Burra Road. 616 was again running sweetly.

Clearly the Aussie Plague Locusts love the late arvo. There were millions of them! Again I could see swarms of them sitting on the road, revelling in the fun of throwing themselves at me and the bike. Splat! Ping! (yes, they make a different sound as they bounce off the visor) Splat! Splat! For 40 minutes they committed hare-kari at me. I could see them, each with a mini "rising sun" bandanna wrapped around their forehead - just throwing themselves at me. A mini Pearl Harbour.
Thankfully, the on-slaught stopped about 10 km from Burra. 616 and cruised into Burra Town Centre arriving at the Visitor Centre at 4:55 PM. I rushed inside flustered. The receptionist asked what the problem was. I said, "Sorry, it's nearly 5!" She said, "Actually, it's only 4:30..." Damn, cross-border time zones! The nice lady took my money and gave me a key and instructions to a cottage across town.

The cabin was beautiful. Stone walls, low ceiling height
and everything you could possibly want

A fully fitted kitchen greets you as you walk in. Outside
the gardener was working away and offered a lift
back into town when he was finished.
I accepted his kind offer.

I rode the bike there, unpacked my gear and took a shower. It was very nice place. Very romantic. I wished the Gorgeous One was there. Instead I prepped 616 for a night outside and asked the gardener when he was leaving - he took the hint and offered a trip into town in time for dinner.

Perfect. That is how I should remember Burra.

But that wasn't to be. My meal at the Commercial Hotel was disturbed by the presence of a large number of tradesmen from the contractor installing Wind Turbines in the local area. The proprietor tolerated them because they were return guests for at least 6 weeks. Their rudeness and lack of consideration just annoyed me.

I bought some basics for breakfast at the Petrol Station store down the road. Strangely, they were open but had no petrol to sell - I didn't ask why.

I walked slowly back to the cottage, following one of the many historical trails through town. Burra was once a thriving copper mining & smelting centre - one of the reasons the original Ghan Railway headed north out of Adelaide. It is easy to see that once, long ago, acid rain from the smelt stripped the earth bare just as it did until recently at Queenstown in Tasmania.

I settled in for a spot of TV and filling out the guest book (cute). A quick cuppa then off to bed.

In the morning, I was in no hurry - 480 km in 8 hours. I took my time getting ready & prepping the bike. Little did I realise that the main group of Tragics had changed their plans drastically and were not that far in front of me. I was on the road at 9 AM, thermals out of the jacket and packed and summer gloves bouncing the icy wind off my knuckles.

I was regretting those decisions already.