Alice Springs And Back

This entry is part 11 of 18 in the series Adventure Rider Issue #52

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Carl Bennett spent months preparing his Transalp and himself for the solo trip of a lifetime. Then it was time to go.

Blissful silence and solitude.

For safety reasons I purchased a SPOT tracker,PLB and handheld CB radio. I also purchased spare tubes, bolts, bonding-repair stuff and zip ties. A tomahawk which doubled as a hammer was zip tied to the swingarm, a home-made alloy bashplate was fitted in place of the stock plastic guard and a fuel bladder was zip tied into a special frame in front of the top box.

I left a day later than planned, but there was no rush, and the first stop was Lithgow Bike Stop for a couple of last-minute items.

Author Carl, living the dream.

Countdown

It was a very nervous ride up Bells Line of Road as I was grossly overloaded. I wasn’t absolutely convinced of my determination to do the ride, or even that I could, or should, attempt this adventure to the Never Never. Straight away three things conspired to end the dream I’d had for so long.

The first was only an hour from home when oil began leaking from a rocker cover. Dave and the crew at Lithgow Bike Stop very kindly dropped all they were doing and sorted the problem, leaving me very thankful for the excellent service and allowing me to continue to Orange for an overnight rest at a cousin’s house.

The second problem was the weather. Snow greeted me the next morning. It dampened my spirits, but had disappeared after smoko – three cups of coffee – at 11.00am. Then a storm at Eugowra on the way to Condobolin for my first camp left me freezing and wet. I stopped at Forbes’ Macca’s for warmth, food and a hot drink, then pushed on to Condo and set up camp to enjoy the first night of my trip to be spent alone.

The truck show at Alice Springs had some great displays, including this one driven up from Victoria.

Condo was my make-or-break point.

It was my last chance to back out before I was fully committed to a solo tackling of the unknown – the real Australian outback.

The third test was at Condobolin itself while packing up an hour before departure.

I saw I had to prevent the nylon straps getting get cut or rubbed through on the home-made brackets, and I decided some six-millimetre rubber fuel hose fitted neatly around the aluminium edges would do the job. I proceeded to slice the fuel line lengthways, and as I thought, ‘I probably shouldn’t have my hand there,’ the Stanley knife sliced into my palm.

Were the three negative events a sign to not continue?

I could easily have headed home, but my brain said, ‘Suck it up, princess! Trust your God and your instincts’.

The lovely receptionist from the caravan park supplied a Band-Aid and I finished packing, tied all my bags onto the bike in what I hoped was a good and orderly fashion, and set off for Cobar.

Nearly 7000km without a problem, not even a puncture.

Get the picture

It was the start of the real test for me. The truckie part of me felt I should be able to tie things on so they didn’t fall off, and the riding would test my limited bike skills on various dirt roads to reach Alice Springs.

Thankfully I became more proficient as time went on.

Cobar was a chance to fuel up and check for lost cargo. The road had been rocky but reasonable on dirt sections, and the luggage was all still in place, so it was all good.

Tilpa pub, about halfway between Cobar and Wilcannia, was my target for an overnight stay. It meant riding a fairly long section of road which was under water and I was surprised I didn’t get an unscheduled bath.

I’d set off with a brand new phone and was learning how to operate it on the fly.

A kind lady showed me, in simple terms, how to send a message and pictures home.

Dancing brolgas. Awesome.

Blessed

The next day I continued on and criss-crossed roads to the Silver City Highway and Milparinka pub where I found lots of guns and people. A large clay-pigeon shooting competition was being held out the back of there somewhere, and after a stay in the pub, although a bit noisy, I rode on to Tibooburra for more fuel.

From Tib I covered a scary road to Cameron Corner. There was so much sand!

I was not happy, Jan, and nearly didn’t make it. I asked God to please help me not crash. ‘Please Lord,’ I prayed, ‘Make up for my lack of ability and keep me upright with divine intervention.’ Thankfully he answered my prayer and the bike and I made it unscathed.

The Pink Roadhouse at Oodnadatta is definitely unique.

Trainer

With two nights in good accommodation at ‘The Corner’ I enjoyed a rest day and checked out a group of army vehicles also on route to Alice Springs, but via different roads to mine.

With no one keen to accompany me I was a little uncertain about the Strzelecki Track. It was a total unknown for me and I’d gathered as much information as possible. I first encountered and crossed 100 sand dunes, and it was a bit like a boat ride in slow ocean swells. It was awe inspiring, but not too difficult to ride.

At Merty Merty I turned left for Lyndhurst, and a smooth road surface quickly deteriorated into rocks and corrugations. My bones were rattled enough after 300km, so I found an old creek bed to get a fire going and enjoyed a hot coffee and a rest, sending a SPOT signal to my family and friends to reassure them I was okay. By the time I’d drunk my coffee and eaten some cake an hour had passed.

My wife understood I was camping there for the night under the million-star accommodation, and oh! What a memory!

No fancy five-star motel luxury could ever compete…until a road train on the way to Mooni Mooni gas fields shattered the blissful silence and solitude in the early morning.

I was enjoying myself immensely and living the dream.

Ajax powder sprinkled around the tent site got rid of unwanted ants.

Relics

A beautiful sunrise began the next day as I boilled the billy and fuelled up from the bladder. I needed to be sure I could complete the 500km between the Cameron Corner and Lyndhurst servos, and I set off filled with wonder.

Lots of rocks and vibrations later I arrived at Lyndhurst, and after refuelling and a snack, detoured to Leigh Creek for a gander at the town that was built solely for people while they worked at the local mine. I also saw the train that had supplied coal for power stations, but I don’t think the train or coal mine is operating anymore.

Maree is the start of the Oodnadatta Track and a town full of ruins.

A very famous film was produced in the area in late 1960s about the Birdsville mailman, Tom Kruze. One of his old trucks is on display near the old railway station and the old engine train carriage. I don’t know if I will ever be able to ride the Birdsville Track, so I rode 10km up and back to be able to say I’d at least been on it. It might be good for a skite around a campfire sometime.

Sleeping in a motel felt good before I continued my journey north towards The Alice.

Somewhere near Coward Springs, at an old railway watering point, I had a most blessed experience when two Brolgas danced not more than six metres away.

There are lots of creative arty pieces that have been made and erected and put on display along the Oodnadatta Track, including the Pink Roadhouse at “ My bones were rattled enough after 300km, so I found an old creek bed to get a fire going and enjoyed a hot coffee and a rest ” Oodnadatta itself, and the interesting remains of an old rail bridge over some watery swamp. It was a little oasis in the middle of nowhere.

A look around the town revealed a pub which offered good food and a sleep before the last of the Oodnadatta Track.

Ant acid

I continued to the Stuart Highway and over the border into the Northern Territory.

Yeah! I’d made it!

The Erldunda Roadhouse, a very busy place for trucks, busses, caravans and bikes of all sorts offered a great camping spot and I pulled in to find the Black Dog Ride for suicide prevention was in full swing and on its way to Uluru and The Alice.

There was plenty of phone service so I made calls to family and mates, and was informed by my son he intended to ask his girlfriend to be his wife.

Yee-hah!

My tent was set up but the ants decided to invite themselves in, and a defence against the invasion was needed. Ajax powder sprinkled around tent site got rid of the unwanted guests who took the hint. I wasn’t bothered for the rest of the night.

Soft touch

I went looking for dirt roads to Kings Canyon and chose Giles Road. It was full of sandy sections I wasn’t happy about and I almost came a guttza. Fortunately there were no GoPros to record the unsightly event. God held me upright and God and I are the only ones who know how close I was to coming off in a big way.

At Kings Canyon campground I found the allocated campsite, but, unfortunately, it would’ve needed an impact driver to screw in mining pegs for the tent ropes.

A look around revealed the middle of the site was green and grassy with lots of dirtbikes. I asked if I could join them so my tent pegs would be able to be put in place with a normal hammer and was told, “No worries!” Some interesting conversations were had that night.

Theirs was an organised coast-to-coast ride from east to west and was supported by a Nissan Patrol and a large trailer with plenty of spares, tyres and fuel. Each rider was on their own bike and there were some wild and unusual set ups.

The trip of a lifetime.

Caning on The Canning

The next day ended up being a short ride to Stuarts Well Roadhouse and Caravan Park.

On the way was a group of full-on dirtbike riders who looked battered and bruised after just having done the Canning Stock Route, and who were looking forward to a shower after nine days without one. They’d carried all their own food and water, and fuel was dropped at various sites for them. I want to congratulate all who ride or drive that amazing historic stock route.

I was ahead of time on my own trip and paid for a room at the roadhouse. Some other travelers on their way to a truck show were good company.

The Bennett brothers flew into Alice Springs to share the experience. From left: Paul, Mark and Carl. Front: Darrell

Brothers

We had arranged for my two abled-bodied brothers to fly with our disabled brother to land at Uluru, and I hired a minivan and drove to meet them at the airport. I was very excited to see familiar faces and overjoyed at my safe arrival to the middle of Australia. It was a long way from home.

We spent two nights at the rock and amazingly hired a helicopter for the disabled brother to look at the rock and the Olgas from the sky. It was real buzz.

Back in an Alice Springs motel, we went to the transport hall of fame celebration for two days to soak up the transport-related displays and many memories were brought to life by seeing them. What a great time we had!

Two nights at Longreach allowed a good look at the Stockman’s Hall of Fame.

A sign

I put my brothers on the plane for their return home and found a dentist for a bit of root-canal drilling and was relieved of much pain and a sizable wedge of funds.

A grocery shop topped up supplies for a camp at Jervois, on the Plenty Highway on my way to Queensland, where I found a couple of other truck-show people also camped. They were on their way home and lived not very far from me in Windsor, NSW. We chewed a bit of fat that evening.

Near Tobermorey on the Queensland border my tomahawk parted company with the bike. I should probably have fitted new zip ties while I was on my break at Alice Springs. Oh, well.

Buelia was my next planned stop.

A friend had advised me NT roads were well maintained while Queensland roads were rough, but I found the opposite. I congratulated myself on making a great choice as I headed for Winton through a dot on the map called Middleton, a pub in the middle of nowhere that served up a beautiful salad sandwich made by a lovely elderly lady. A sign on the way indicated there was fuel available at Middleton, but methinks that was many years ago. I used the fuel bladder again to top up for the stretch into Winton.

Kings Canyon campground had lots of dirtbikes with some wild and unusual set ups.

Fed up

I had a good look at the truck museum in Winton then cruised around town and stayed in a pub before heading off and finding my next-door neighbour in his V8 Inter Acco at Longreach on his way home from The Alice.

I didn’t want to cut short my time in Longreach and I had nobody to argue with except myself, so I always won.

I stayed two nights to allow a good look at the Stockman’s Hall of Fame and the Qantas Museum.

I lost my pocket Pentax camera some-where as I left Longreach. I’d been putting the camera in my coat pocket so I could reach it quickly to get photos, and I’d got in the habit of not doing up the zipper.

I was very angry with myself and had to give myself a good uppercut – with another one just now – for my stupidity.

Blackall had another pub with good accom which set me up for the run to Charleville, where I couldn’t decide where to stay. I was feeling a bit crook, so got some food supplies and headed out of town in the direction of Diranbandi on Bollin Road. After about 100km I pulled into the bush near the road to set up camp. I’d got lazy and was feeling a bit sick so couldn’t be bothered putting up the tent and I had never in my whole life had so much wind exit my body from both north and south.

Due to the drought there was plenty of dry fuel and fires were easy to start.

I didn’t sleep much that night and had nothing to eat the next morning, and it was only when I got to Bollin I realised a full 18 hours had passed without my seeing a single vehicle or person. A big feeling of remoteness engulfed me, but didn’t bother me. I was just amazed.

At Diranbandi a vegemite sandwich and black coffee was all I could stomach.

I asked a truck driver at Diranbandi, “How are you going, mate?” He replied “I’m sick and tired of being tired.”

It’s an ongoing problem for all truck drivers.

The Strzelecki Track was awe-inspiring, but not too difficult to ride.

Inspired

Hebel turned out to be a relic of a town with two old timers giving me different advice and directions for Lightning Ridge.

I found the best caravan park in Australia, with screens on the showers to stop clean, dry clothes from getting wet, and a rest in the hot artesian bores opposite the caravan park was most rewarding. The temperature was only just bearable.

The allotted camp spot was again on very hard ground. No tent was required and I was still a bit off in the tummy, so I spent the night in the open air. It was amazing.

Next day the underground Chambers Of The Black Hand mine was the biggest eye-opener in the town, with lots of carvings of all sorts of celebrities.

I rode past lots of relics of trucks and machinery on the road to Dubbo for an overnight stay with relatives, and much further down the road for another night’s stay at a mate’s place where a few stories were told, and then Lithgow Bike Stop to say thanks.

The bike and I had made it through nearly 7000km with not a problem or even a puncture. A worn-out rear brake pad I’d blindly overlooked before leaving was replaced by the Honda dealer in Alice Springs.

To my heavenly Father: thank you.

And to my and wife and family for their encouragement to make this trip of a lifetime.

And thanks to Dom Bromfield for those few words I read in the Adventure Rider Magazine issue #49 story Down The Rabbit Hole.

Dom said I would be surprised at how many blokes, like me, would like to read other people’s bike stories and adventures in this amazing country we call Australia.

The Qantas Museum at Longreach.