Cameron Corner

This entry is part 8 of 22 in the series Adventure Rider Issue #10

Want to get away from it all? From absolutely everything? The Bulloo Shire, the junction of three states, is probably the destination you’re searching for.

Cameron Corner, where New South Wales, South Australia and Queensland meet, is one of those destinations on every adventurer’s list. Usually it’s misspelled as ‘Camerons Corner’, but that doesn’t make it any less challenging. And out there in the heat and red dust, work and problems of the city shrink to near nothing.

There’s nothing that earns the wide-eyed respect of newbies like gazing off into the distance, grimacing, and muttering through clenched teeth, “Yeah. Gonna head out to The Corner.”

There’s no easy way to get to Cameron Corner. It’s at the centre of a great, big expanse of sun-baked red dust. There’s inhospitable desert off to the horizon in every direction, and temperatures are often above 40 degrees.

A kilometre in any direction from Cameron Corner, all a bloke can think about is making sure he survives.

Whatever’s threatening the bottom line at work assumes its proper priority when a low oil reading on a dipstick can be, quite literally, a matter affecting survival. An empty CamelBak, even a single kilometre from the Cameron Corner store, is an issue that could well affect someone’s health in a very short time.

For adventurers looking to test themselves it’s a likely destination. For adventure riders making their first attempt, a run to The Corner is about as confronting as it gets.

Old and new

Just before Christmas a few riders set out for a run to Cameron Corner, and although it was a celebration of an annual ride, two of the riders, Craig and Al, were making their first attempt. Al was on his not-very-old Sertão, and Craig on a not-very-new DR650. Adventure Rider Magazine’s editor tagged along on his 1995 Honda Dominator. It’s definitely not a new bike, that one. The rider has a few years on as well, so the pair was a bit chancy all round.

Leaving the coast early on a Friday morning, Craig and TF headed west, sticking to the dirt wherever possible, and with two days planned for the run out and two days back, no need to rush.

Still…there was no time for nancying about, either.

Powder dry

As the lush, green pastures of the eastern side of Great Dividing Range rolled away the day unfolded as a glorious, warm, sunny slice of perfection. Guyra made for a nutritious breakfast of chips-and-gravy – a tradition of the ride for the coastal boys – and an ideal place to rendezvous with Al, who’d ridden across from Armidale.

From Guyra the scenic majesty began.

Baldersleigh Road and Gulf Creek Road took the trio to the base of Mount Kaputar, and it was descending the western slope of the range that the first fiery breaths of desert heat scorched the riders. The temperature rose until, in a sliver of shade outside a Narrabri roadhouse, the temperature nudged 36 degrees. And the sun was well short of its zenith for the day.

From Narrabri the group had intended to continue west through Pilliga and Come By Chance, but thanks to the editor’s geographical dyslexia, every-one rode around in circles watching the Narrabri heat climb for half an hour before rejoining the Kamilaroi Highway and following the signs to Pilliga.

From there it was a matter of following the only road west.

The road, on this trip, was a sandy wallow with less substance than talcum powder. It was a battle to just ride and keep the bike upright.

And the temperature continued rising.

Take a Chance

The delightfully named Come By Chance is not much more than a few buildings roasted on to the dust. There was a tree though, so the riders tried to take advantage of the frugal shade as the thermometer made its way above 40 degrees.

Come By Chance also lies pretty much in the middle of a sand road. It’s sand on the way in and sand on the way out. With the day slipping away fast and the pace held to not much above a trudge, a hard decision had to be taken. The Bourke on the first night, and the only way for the group to be in Bourke before dark was to slog through the sand to a turnoff named Nilma Road, which would in turn lead back to the bitumenplan was to camp in.

Looking for a thoroughfare called Nilma Road would be all very well in any town in NSW, but west of Come By Chance? Road signs just aren’t all that common.

There was an unmarked dirt road heading off in the right direction, but a look at the map showed that if it wasn’t Nilma Road, it was probably a winding line of sand that swerved south to end up near Coonamble…a very long way from where anyone wanted to be.

With the temperature still in the high 30s – even though the sun was well past its peak – the three elected to continue to burrow on westward.

It was a good decision. Nilma Road, complete with signpost, appeared a few kilometres later, and shortly after all three bikes were humming along the Kamilaroi Highway, heading straight into the setting sun, bound for Bourke and the oasis of the Kidman campground.

The green, fruitful landscape of New England is a stark contrast to the arid desert of 24 hours later.

Kidman’s Camp, eight kilometres north of Bourke, is an oasis. It’s a fantastic place to stop and rest up at any time of year.

Uh-oh. For anyone else this is a disaster. For Craig it’s just another chance to exercise his incredible mechanical talent. The thing was patched up and run-ning in no time.

Everywhere you look there’s…nothing.

Plug gap

Craig’s normally faultless and beautifully modified DR650 had been cackling and farting on overrun and at idle, so, with camp established on the plush grass and the ferocious hammering of the sun lessened by a huge margin, he set about finding the problem.

It turned out to be an easy one to spot. When he went to remove the plug cap it broke into two pieces.

That would explain the symptoms, it was thought.

For anyone else this would’ve been a disaster, but Craig is a master of fabrication and adaption, and with a liberal application of Liquid Steel and duct tape, the bike was running like a dream…not a wet dream, for sure, but running. It still cackled and farted occasionally, but so did the riders.

So it was all good.

For reals

A good night’s sleep in a comfortable and very pleasant camp had everyone refreshed,and the trio headed west from Bourke and the ‘real’ riding began. After the 50km or so of bitumen from Bourke there was nothing but desert for the remainder of the trip. There were patches of tar around townships like Wanaaring and Tibooburra, but not enough to give any relief.

The road surface is different for every trip into the heart of Australia, but for this trip it was soft, deep, talcum-powder sand.

Adventure Rider Magazine’s editor, full of self-assurance, offered the advice that the sand drifts…“never last long. Maybe 400 metres at most.” As it turned out, there was only one sand drift, and it went from the end of the bitumen outside Bourke all the way to Wanaaring. That meant about 80km of battling through the most torturous surface known to adventure-bike riders.

Fortunately, both Craig and Al were experienced racers. Craig disappeared into the heat shimmer that made up the western horizon while Al took a little while to find his feet, but all three rolled into Wanaaring for fuel and cold drinks with a minimum of drama.

Always welcome

Wanaaring store is run by Ben and Margaret, and over the last few years, their daughter, Ashley. The coffee is legendary, Ben and Margaret are fabulous people, and the store itself is a haven. There’s fuel, food, fresh fruit and vegetables, car and bike spares and just about everything else an outpost like this could carry.

Cold drinks were the choice on this day, and as is always the way in the outback, an exchange of news is mandatory. As the three riders looked blankly at enquiries about things in Bourke, Ben and Margaret pounced on an Adventure Rider Magazine carried out there especially for them. In return, they laughed at the appalling state of the road out from Bourke, and assured the riders that the run to Tiboobuura was much easier, “Nuthin’ like what you’ve just been on,” beamed Ben.

Much heartened at this news, the three hit the road for the long step – 242km – to Tibooburra.

Ben and Marg were right. It was much easier going as far as the road went. Still the temperature soared, and by the time the bone-dry trio rolled into Tibooburra for fuel, the thermometer on the cocky’s cage at the door read a cheerful 46 degrees.

Make a choice

From the granite boulders of Tibooburra the dirt road began to wind a little, and a dune or two made things far more interesting. Glimpses of the dingo fence caused the riders’ heartbeats to jump, and before long, the famous gate was opened and the goal had been reached.

With awe and amazement the riders sweated into the store and began consuming cold drinks as fast as the barman could pour them. The thermometer under the awning outside the store showed 48 degrees, and no-one doubted it.

The heat from the direct sun was murderous.

After gazing at the horizons and wondering about the Strzelecki to the west, White Cliffs to the south and Birdsville to the north, it was clear that this place, Cameron Corner, wasn’t so much a destination as a beginning. It’s a junction where riders can choose their adventure.

As the heat dried the sweat before it could cool their bodies, the riders climbed on their bikes and headed east, back to where the care and worries of the modern world filled their days. Next time, they knew, Cameron Corner was where the adventure would start.