Adventures by Human Power
Airlie Beach to Bundaberg - The Family are coming!!!
By now we feel that we are well and truly heading down the home straight. Surely Australia is going to start to become at least a little more civilised somewhere soon. How far from the truth could we be? As we make for Mackay, Andrew and I ride through long long stretches of uninhabited lands. Tim and Rich stay on in Airlie to enjoy a generous offer of complimentary scuba diving around th Great Barrier Reef. The two of us however do not have this option - for us the road is calling.
On our ride, wild rainforests surround us and steep escarpments tower at our right as the Great Dividing Range makes an excursion to the sea shore. In fact near to Mackay is the nearest that the range approaches the Pacific Ocean. We clock almost the magic hundred miles on our first day out of Airlie - rather further than we had hoped for. As we ride we find that after an early scorching heat, heavy cloud has covered the sky. The skies darken and a wind whistles up signalling that rain is approaching. Heavy drops clatter down upon us, and we are quickly soaked. At first the rain is a pleasant distraction, however this is soon replaced by annoyance as it strengthens, and ever larger drops land on our blurred sunglasses. As the heaviest deluge lashes us, I am brought to a grinding halt by a nasty clicking noise from my chain. In the nick of time I have avoided a completely broken chain, but still in the bucketing rain we are forced to make an emergency repair. Underway again I the bike feels surprisingly smooth - despite such a long time on the road. Quite how these machines continue to carry us along day in day out is a miracle of engineering, and a testament to Saracen's help in putting them together.
We pull in to Mackay outskirts on a dry road, for which we are grateful. We are less pleased with that it is eight o'clock and fully dark, we head for the Backpacker hostel and Andrew heads out to fetch a pizza for the two of us.
Southwards once again from Mackay and life at the roadside thins almost immediately. Whilst Mackay is a huge spreading town of getting on towards a hundred thousand, what follows is yet another expanse of emptiness. We pass through just two small settlements in the course of our journey. Once again we find ourselves encountering rain. Friendly faces continue to meet us on our drinks stops. A family of four just before we leave Mackay warns us of the road ahead and how sparsely populated it is. It's one of those warnings that we tend to pass off and think 'oh yeah - have you ever been to the Outback?' - but indeed there continues to be not very much even here on the fabled East Coast. We also are welcomed in by the part owner of a traditional Australian corner shop. He sits outside on his wooden bench watching the world pass, and is visibly excited by the two of us pulling in. 'You're from England so you are! And have you had any trouble lately with those Germans?' His crazy high pitched chatter babbles along and we soon realise that his marbles are not quite properly aligned. 'Australia's a good country….we've got plenty of food - oh yes we've got plenty of food…..plenty of food'. Our new found friend poses proudly for a photo with his diminutive dog beside his now rusting petrol pump. By now he has moved on to telling us all about the Sugar Cane Railways and how they work. With still a way to go on this particular day we excuse ourselves and hightail it back out into the rain. Whilst everyone normally associates Australia - and indeed we have become quite accustomed to the bright blue skies with whispy white clouds bobbing along - of late we have run into some proper monsoonal activity - and we are drenched regularly.
Rockhampton four hard days south of Airlie marks a special day in Australia's history. It's the official centenary of Federation and is the one hundredth Australia day. Marlborough where we stay that evening is staging a special celebratory breakfast. However, kicking off at 06:30, and with Andrew and I both continuing to feel a creeping lethargy that prevents any kind of energetic early morning activity we miss it altogether. Instead we ride out into the middle of the morning - to find the temperatures climbing like a plane in a steep take off manoevre. By the middle of the day it feels hotter than we can remember it. The thick glutinous smelly zinc block that we carry is getting a proper work out now. We layer it on and still we feel the strength of the sun. Australia as you may be aware has the highest incidence of skin cancer anywhere on the planet. It's hardly surprising - distant Pommie offshoots find themselves basking beneath the strong UV rays of the 'Terra-Australis' and with surfing paradise, glorious beaches and a climate that hardly disposes people to keep their clothes on. Having spent the last seventeen months in the outdoors beneath the skies and intermittenly in the powerful rays of the sun - it's not a concern which is wasted on us. Slip-Slap-Slop goes the public service announcement on the TV - hardly a message which one might expect to see in the UK - but here we know we must take care. I have a few oversize brown freckles that I have been keeping an eye on for some time - which will be being taken to the doctors on our return to the UK. Better safe than sorry.
The sun continues to blaze down as we hit 'Rockie' town centre. Even though its late its still powerfully hot. We have sweated and toiled today. Top temperature for the day unconfirmed reached over thirty eight degrees. Higher and less comfortable has been known - but when working hard it's hot enough to draw one's precious reserves of fluids out in double quick time. Larger towns come closer together now and Gladstone is next on our list. With Rich S. back in tow we again find a stinkingly hot day. Gladly the distance is a little less than of late - a gentle hundred and ten. Not that we're counting but from here I think we have breached the fifteen hundred kilometre threshold. With a few days of concerted riding we have made a good dent in our journey down the East Coast.
Gladstone is a bustling port and Industrial city. In fact we understand that it one of only two proper ports in the North of Queensland, along with Townsville. Proudly it trumpets on how well positioned it is for the future with power stations, refining plants and chemical processes. Undoubtedly it sits in a fantastic position above a bend in the river that spreads out into a wide open estuary. The three of us sit out on the verandah for dinner at the Yacht Club. The evening temperatures and humidity of Indonesia and Darwin where a difference of only a couple of degrees would make for uncomfortable and sticky nights, are now a fading memory. Plumetting to an icy twenty degrees, nights are cool, breezy, relaxed and fresh.
Unusually, on closer inspection of the map here we run into a spot of navigational difficulty to bring us in to Bundaberg. The tarmac road will incur an extra sixty kilometres, or alternatively we can ride via a dirt road through tiny villages for fifty kilomtres. We opt for the latter. As we pull off the tarmac it seems a distant memory the last time we spent time away from a proper road surface. A winding red snake of dirt follows the contours of the early morning landscape off into the distance, and we relish the new experience that presents itself. We continue amongst forest and squawking birdlife. Even a few kangaroos and wallabies eye us nervously from the undergrowth. Before the heat of the day has really had chance to get going we're pulling off the dirt and heading for our first stop of the day. A lone horse rider gallops towards us as we approach Lowmead village. A friendly aboriginal face smiles form his high perch and asks where we've come from. A fleeting conversation and he clatters off up the track in a cloud of dust. We bang on the door of Lowmead pub. It's still a little early, but the woman lets us in for a cold drink.
At our next stop in another tiny village that I can't quite remember the name of we sit out beneath a picnic sun shelter. Whilst we're recovering, a scruffy fella on an old beaten up rustflaked single speed bicycle. He pulls out a medium sized bottle wrapped in newspaper, rolls up a cigarette and settles into his seat by himself not five metres from where we are. Unusually I make for a scrap of paper and pen to try and make a note about this special character. 'Bob' has just cycled in from his home down by nine mile creek on his trusty steed. He decided it was time he came in here after almost a fortnight out where he lives by himself. 'Sorry, I know I talk too much, but I ain't got no-one to talk to out there - see I live all by myself, that's why I come in here to talk to this Leopard Tree' he gestures to his friend the tree that he's sitting beneath. After explaining how his bicycle used to carry him all the way down to 'Bundy' in days gone by he laughs an excessively and slightly disconcerting loud 'yah-hah-hah'. His left leg is two inches shorter than his right and is not so good, but it doesn't bother him - he's quite circumspect about it - it dopesn't stop him riding into town. Today he's come in for a 'smoko' and his beer. And he's oh so happy to talk with three fellow cyclists. He appreciates that we listen to his story, and also that we don't look down our nose at him because he looks a little scruffy and unconventional. 'That's why I don't like the people down in Brisbane - they blare their horns at me as I ride along the road - just coz I'm different'. In a telling goodbye he smiles 'That should help me to settle down a bit and keep me straight for a bit'. Life is a stuggle for this guy - all by himself, just holding his sanity together alone for days and days at a time is a challenge. 'Keep Riding Bob'.
