Bright to The Gulf

This entry is part 13 of 19 in the series Adventure Rider Issue #14

On little motorbikes Sharp-eyed readers will note the column from Touratech importer Robin Box is missing this issue. That’s because he’s been a tad busy. To help celebrate Yahama’s 60th anniversary in Australia, and as a test for Safari Tanks’ new Yamaha WR250R rear tank, four riders set off on a south-to-north crossing of Australia, riding the shortest possible route. Here’s the story of their very direct trip.

How did it come about? While Ross Runnalls was purchasing a couple of Safari H2O kayaks from Robin Box, the subject of long-distance rides came up. As a recent retiree, Ross was conscious that time left for such activities was running out.

The APC Rally from the extreme west to the extreme east of Australia sounded interesting, but neither were keen on riding in large groups. Maybe they could do the same trip, but at a different time in a smaller group?

Ross went home and studied the APC route and figured a lot of it would be not-so-attractive riding, and so came up with a shorter alternative challenge of going from the south to the north of Australia by the shortest possible route. That meant going from the head of The Great Australian Bight to the lowest point of the Gulf Of Carpentaria.

Approvals and permits

Unfortunately it’s no longer possible to go north from the head of the Bight near the Nullabor Roadhouse and follow the Trans Pacific railway line. The line is now leased to a private operator, and there’s no public access to the rail line easement as too many 4WD tourists were having vehicle problems and flagging down trains.

As the next opportunity to go north was at Ceduna, that seemed a logical start point.

It’s not possible to drive to the edge of the Gulf at its most southerly point, Burketown, due to the extensive tidal salt flats. The boat ramp on the Albert River, six kilometres out of Burketown, is the closest point to ride to, so that was the obvious finish point.

Ross has a travel habit. When start and end points aren’t directly linked by major roads, he draws a line on the map between them and then selects a route that sticks as close to that line as possible.

He adopted the same approach to this trip, then examined where approvals and permits would be required to traverse private, leasehold, government and aboriginal-controlled lands.

Ariels up

The highlight of the 36-hour trip trailering the bikes from the Victorian home base was lunch bought from the CWA ladies’ stall in the middle of the main street of Orroroo, and the chat with their eldest member, 87-year-old Edna.

We were greeted by a wild, wet and windy Ceduna. After a meal of local whiting and a cool night’s sleep, our first day emerged as overcast, threatening, and not very inviting.

After the obligatory bacon-and-eggs breakfast, we grabbed the ceremonial vial of Southern Ocean water and headed north for 40km through cropping country, weaving our way along good straight roads, sitting back, gripping the tank firmly with the knees and gripping the throttle firmly and the clutch loosely to achieve a rigid body and bike frame.

Once in the mallee scrub on Googs Track, the relentless sand hills were similar to the Sunset Country in Victoria, but the damp, firm sand wasn’t as favourable as expected, or it may just have been rusty riders getting used to heavy loads. The scrub was catching Barkbusters and mirrors and there were a few early, low-speed spills.

UHF radio headsets within helmets had seemed a good idea until the three elderly riders managed to rip the wire out of the plugs when distance of dislodged rider from bike exceeded cable length. We followed camel tracks and eventually caught up with a camel that disappeared before anyone could snap a photo.

Time was running short when we emerged after 184km onto the accessible part of the rail line near Malbooma and entered the Woomera Prohibited Area, where permits are required, and took the main station access road to Mulgathing, then minor station tracks past Muckanippie Outstation onto Commonwealth Hill Station. It was dark by the time we found Ingomar Station.

Exiting homesteads is often the most challenging navigation, and despite the directions from the young stationhand − “go over two grids then turn left” – we got it wrong. Fortunately, one of the jackaroos chased us down and sent us on the correct path along the old Stuart Highway into Coober Pedy.

Geoff had a fuel issue, limiting speed to around 70kph, but we encountered very few ’roos, and arrived just before 9.00pm.

So, after booking into the underground Radeka Backpackers, we enjoyed pizzas and beers while chatting to a group of 10 riders from the Adelaide Ariel Motorcycle Club. They were about to start a trip across the Simpson and down the Hay River – not on Ariels, though.

Ears were burning

The second day dawned fine and sunny, and after more roadhouse bacon and eggs we headed off at about 10.00am for 190km across the gibber plains towards Oodnadatta. The gibber stones sparkled in the sun like broken glass, which was not the case.

We were able to obtain a fuel-cap seal at the Pink Roadhouse at Oodnadatta to replace one that had become dislodged the previous night, and we were all surviving well on our fruit and nut bags, so a coffee was all that was needed.

A sign in the roadhouse specified hours that school kids would be served and added “No school, no service”.

We went north towards Eringa.

Dalhousie Springs, the traditional destination in this area, was not on the shortest route. The Old Ghan rail line was crossed and a sandy creek and some very old shot lines across the gibber negotiated before an enjoyable sweeping run into Mt Dare, where we found we were to share the campground with 160 Kidney Kar Rally participants, as well as the normal tourists.

We broke out the camping gear with Robin in a two-man tent, Mick in a one-man tent, Ross under a three-metre by three-metre fly, and Geoff under the stars. An immense flock of budgerigars circled camp on dusk.

Ross celebrated his 60th birthday in the bar that night, while Geoff reflected that when he used to come to this hotel about 20 years ago, it was in a different, smaller timber building that had collapsed with white ants. The rally people didn’t feel the need to go to bed as early as we did, so we were subject to their scintillating fireside conversation for quite a while.

Stock tips

Our next day was heralded by rally alarms at 0600.

We got away at about 9.30am and went north along the Old Andado Track, where all the cars had come through the day before, so the bulldust holes were wide and deep.

Open country running north between sand dunes replaced acacia forest with lush understorey. We stopped at Old Andado homestead for a late-morning cup of tea and coffee prepared by Quentin, the very muscly volunteer caretaker who worked in police search and rescue as his day job. We stayed too long, chatting to Quentin about Molly Clark, the lady who lived alone out here for many years, surviving droughts, floods and bureaucracy, so there was no time to make the nine-kilometre deviation to the Mac Clark Rare Acacia Peuce Reserve.

The rest of Old Andado track was an enjoyable, sweeping ride parallel with, but occasionally crossing, the big, red sand dunes. We stopped and chatted with the young stationhand operating the grader so trucks could get cattle out from yards further south.

Eventually the MacDonnell Ranges emerged from the horizon. From there we roughly followed the Phillipson Stock Route, which had a similar intention to us, but in the opposite direction, of getting stock from eastern Northern Territory and western Queensland south to the Ghan rail line, while avoiding the rugged MacDonnell Ranges and Alice Springs.

Second hand

Before reaching aboriginal lands we encountered a large sign on a minor station track warning of no alcohol or pornography beyond that point. At the shock of this sign, Geoff took a slow tumble in bulldust ruts, damaging his ankle and wrist, making the rest of the day pretty challenging for him.

The station track’s sharp-edged bulldust ruts were particularly vicious from there on. Although all signs of the mapped track had disappeared, the cattle had not forgotten where the road used to be, so there were their meandering tracks to follow. We lost the track and a bit of cross-country work was required at one point to find our way out between the hills and on to a reasonable road.

We’d arranged some weeks beforehand for a five-litre-each fuel top-up at a station along the way. Nightfall was looming, so we went only about 10km further out the road, halfway between bores, so we wouldn’t bother, or be bothered by, cattle. We quickly set up our beds and got a fire going for dinner.

Geoff needed a hand, seeing as he was lacking one. He took a painkiller cocktail, which must have been a potent mix, as he fainted on us, but avoided falling in the fire. He lay down and chatted gaily about his current misfortunes, such was the cocktail mix.

Feed lot

We were joined for breakfast on day four by a huge flock of curious finches. Geoff’s wrist had swollen and locked up, so he decided that he’d head to Alice Springs and get checked out.

Soon after the rest of us headed off, we interrupted a flock of seven wedge-tailed eagles that must have been tucking into a good lump of carrion.

We crossed the border into NT and the Tropic of Capricorn, not that we had any reason to know at the time. Along there we ran into a station owner loading cattle to take the long trip to the abattoirs at Roma in Queensland. He was wearing thongs as he scrambled about the yards among the stock.

When he stopped to chat to us he unfurled a tin of tobacco and rolled his own, another thing you don’t see much down south these days. This was the guy who, when Ross rang him a month or so beforehand about our south-to-north plans, responded with, “Whatever floats your boat, mate”. They wouldn’t see many floating boats out there.

We passed the loaded road train on the Plenty Highway. It was stopped in the middle of the road with the driver sprawled on the ground underneath. We didn’t figure we would be of any help to him, so we topped up with fuel at Jervois and continued on another 200km past lots of red anthills and empty moselle casks on towards Tobermorey on the Queensland border.

We arrived at Urandangie pub just after dark to be greeted by a loud argument between two of the local ladies who turned out to be sisters. A herd of kids were shuffled away from the blue into the pub, so the TV was switched from the football to some animated movie!

After the publican, Pam, arrived back from a supply run to Mt Isa, a meal and beds became a possibility, and we were fed in her own dining room. The back yard was full of a dozen of her pet kangaroos, so you had to dodge their droppings on the way to the shower, and keep your door closed to avoid retrieving ’roos, not reds, from under the bed.

Pam was a real character. She’d had the pub for seven years, and she was determined to spend the rest of her days there and be buried on the hill out the back. We couldn’t see a hill anywhere, but the cemetery is apparently located on a slight rise on the edge of town. The local kids called her ‘Nan’ and loved helping her feed her menagerie of pets.

Success

Pam cooked us great bacon and eggs to start day five and chatted easily about the joys of living and working in the outback. It was another notso-early start, and then we were off across the black-soil plains for 35km past the homestead of Headingly Station which surrounds Urandangie.

About there we encountered a couple walking, with a long way to go to reach civilisation. A few kilometres later was their abandoned car.

Apparently this road has the highest frequency of abandoned cars in Australia. It accesses the Lake Nash community. The road shrunk to a single vehicle track, at times flanked by grass all the way to the horizon, in all directions, with no shrubs or trees in sight.

We dropped into the oasis that was the sprawling Barkly Downs Station homestead to see if we could shortcut across to the Thorntonia Road. The station manager informed us the gates were locked into the adjoining station, Flora Downs. This seemed odd, but being part of a large stock company, a policy of ‘no tourists’ would be understandable.

So it was on to Camooweal, past more wrecks, for fuel and mobile connection with home for those whose phones worked.

The good-quality gravel roads continued to Gregory Downs, through low hills and anthills. Beyond Thortonia, the road became more interesting, winding through the rocky hills and increasingly savannah-type vegetation.

The final 120km to Burketown was sealed, and we could sense we’d hit the north by the sightings of palm trees on the banks of the creek we were following. On arrival in the very neat Burketown, after discovering it was the Barramundi capital of the north, we headed out to the wharf on the Albert River.

In the fading daylight, we celebrated completing our task by emptying a vial of Southern Ocean seawater from the Great Australian Bight into the waters of the Gulf of Carpentaria.

We’d covered the length of Australia in only 2228km by road.

As we tucked into our barramundi counter meal at the Burketown pub that night, we reflected that we’d achieved our stated goal with the minimum of fuss on new bikes with a range of untested modifications, which is another story in itself.

Ross’s research into station country and his navigation interest certainly spiced up the journey, with the odd detour or shortcut off the more major outback roads with the aim of minimising distance travelled from north to south.

So what’s next? South-east to north-west via Lambeth’s geographical centre of Australia, near Finke, has been mentioned.

The next day, after a quick check over of the bikes and some laundry, Robin and Mick headed off in the afternoon with the aim of getting to Cape York and back to Cairns in three days. Ross waited a day for Geoff to catch up after getting the all-clear in Alice Springs that his wrist wasn’t fractured, then both headed to Townsville, via Forsayth and Paluma, for a few days recovery on Magnetic Island.

A week after flying home, Geoff flew back to make a slow 20-day solo journey home, taking in the length of the Diamantina River from Kynuna in Queensland to its junction with Eyre Creek, south of Birdsville, where it becomes the Warburton Creek and flows into Lake Eyre.

The Group

Ross Runnalls: two-time Australian Rally Champion navigator, and widely regarded as Australia’s most talented map reader.

A former Australian Safari rider, member of the Australian Rally Commission and Clerk Of Course of many state and national championship rallies. Now retired, Ross put the course together and was an integral part in getting the ride off the ground.

Geoff Portman: 1981 and 1982 Australian Rally Champion driver (with Ross as navigator) for the factory Datsun team, and the operator of tag-along outback 4WD and motorbike trips in the ’80s and ’90s. Geoff is vastly experienced in outback conditions. He’s currently dealing with Neuro-Endocrine Tumour Syndrome cancer.

Robin Box: the owner and founder of Safari Tanks, and the Australian distributor for Touratech adventure riding equipment, Robin is well known in the industry. He was the brains behind the new WR250R rallye tank. It doesn’t hurt that he’s a talented rider as well.

Mick Hamilton: A diesel mechanic, earthmoving contractor and pilot, Mick assisted Robin in building the Yamahas for the ride, and was an integral part of keeping the bikes running well.