Not To Plan: Part One with Karen Ramsay

This entry is part 15 of 17 in the series Adventure Rider Issue #43

wp-content/uploads/2023/09/Main-series-img-9.png

If you enjoy reading about trips that have gone pear-shaped, you’re going to love hearing about Karen’s ride.

Why are there feathers on your exhaust?”

It wasn’t necessarily what I’d expected to hear when Dave and I pulled up at Greg and Kylie’s place on the Saturday morning at the very start of our 10-day ride.

I was in a hurry to show off the 2015 DR650 I’d bought two days prior, and in my excitement I’d stripped off my helmet and jacket and thrown them over the seat. But that also included a brand-new, down-filled vest I’d bought on the way over and had stuffed down my jacket. Anyone would think I don’t read my own articles. If I did, I’d probably know to keep things away from the exhaust.

So, after a slight delay while Kylie and I sewed a patch over the gaping, feather-belching hole, we were off.

Current affair

First up was Tenterfield.

We fuelled up then headed towards the nearest COVID-safe coffee shop. At least, three of us did. I was left at the servo with a shiny new bike that wouldn’t start. The battery was as dead as a doornail.

It was about then I began to doubt the merits of buying a secondhand bike from people you know.

When Dave realised there was no one there to pay for his coffee he came back. I sent him off to find a battery before shops closed at midday, and luckily, we were soon on our way, again.

A free plug

With those couple of delays we decided to stick to the tar to make up some kilometres.

Although we didn’t have a firm itinerary, we had a rough idea for the 10 days that included Mutawintji National Park, White Cliffs and Hungerford (spoiler alert – we didn’t get to any of those places) and the rest of the afternoon passed without incident. After a late picnic lunch at Yetman we were on track to get to our first camp, almost in keeping with the four o’clock rule. However, a couple of kilometres after fuelling up, just as we were finally about to get on to our first dirt road of the day, Dave’s bike died. He’d decided to ride our other DR650 (have I mentioned we have a couple of bikes we probably need to sell?).

Greg’s mechanical prowess kicked into gear as he and Dave started eliminating causes. They ruled out fuel and battery, so next was spark. That meant unloading the bike to get the seat off to remove the tank to test the spark plug.

Well, we all learned a valuable lesson: check your spark plugs if you do your own services.

When they eventually freed it, it was pretty obvious the little thing had been punching above its weight for some time.

We figured it wasn’t a big a problem.

Beginning to doubt the merits of buying a secondhand bike from people you know.

We’d just been to a big servo and there was a good chance they’d have a spark plug. Kylie and I rode the couple of kilo-metres back, only to find the place had no plugs. The woman behind the counter was really helpful, even making a couple of phone calls to see if she could find one for us and suggesting the last hope was to go see Dick – the local wrecker – as he might have something. As you can probably guess, Kylie and I were rolling around laughing about how we were riding around town looking for Dick.

Unfortunately, Dick wasn’t in, but his number was on the yard. We phoned and he suggested an auto store in the next town.

Fantastic…apart from a couple of minor details, one being that they were already closed for the day. The other being it was on one side of the border and we were on the other (older readers will remember the days when people could freely cross the NSW/Queensland state line with no other inconvenience than perhaps not knowing the correct time).

Meanwhile, Greg had the idea of swapping out the dodgy spark plug for a good one from another bike (that would be mine). He phoned a friend to check it would be okay, so we unloaded my bike to do the swap.

That was when I learned my bike has two spark plugs!

Despite the experts, I was sceptical and thought someone would have to tow Dave or we’d have to set up camp on the roadside. But both bikes fired up first go.

Kylie got online to organise border passes for us all and we crossed into Queensland as the sun was setting.

KAREN RAMSAY

All going well

The next day had some pretty nice riding along some gorgeous backroads and tracks after we’d purchased the new plugs. Nothing untoward happened.

All the bikes behaved themselves and we even managed to set up camp at a lovely spot beside the Barwon River before four o’clock.

That was mainly so we could put the new spark plugs in, but it still counts.

All smiles.

Private joke

Rolling into Walgett on day three we decided to treat ourselves to a coffee.

We did the right thing and socially distanced ourselves at a table out the front of the coffee shop, and, as you do in town, took advantage of the flushing toilets. I was slightly hesitant when there was a unisex sign out the front and two toilet stalls inside with one already occupied, but it was all good. I pee in the bush, so I knew could do this.

I’d sat myself down and got on with business as quietly as I could when I started to hear noises from the stall beside me. Not normal noises, mind you. I would describe them as increasingly anxious door rattling and progressively louder swearing.

‘Oh great,’ I thought as I realised it was a bloke beside me. ‘Hurry up and leave so I can enjoy this non-squatting luxury in peace’.

There was a moment of silence, then banging. Then a voice called out, “Don’t mind me mate, I’m just climbing over.”

I like to think of myself as a polite person, but I don’t know what etiquette dictates the reply should be in that circumstance where you’ve got your pants around your ankles and you’re definitely not his ‘mate’!

I looked up to see hands grasping the top of the stall and a head appeared.

I was speechless.

‘Oh, waters flow fast and free and let me get my pants up!’

I’d just pulled them up as he perched himself on the door and looked over.

Our eyes locked and he gave a little exclamation. It wasn’t at seeing a female in the next-door cubicle that surprised him, but the fact that the door had now opened!

Mildly traumatised, I raced to get my pants done up, wash my hands and get out of there as quickly as possible while Ol’ Mate stood in the now open doorway complaining about his sore knee.

Turn for the worse

While that won the award for probably the most ridiculous incident of the trip, a few days later we had the scariest one.

We were heading west out of Cobar on a crisp, cold morning on the way to Mount Grenfell historic site. It was a chance to do a small walk and check out the Ngiyampaa rock art. If you don’t know the road, it’s fairly straight with lots of safe opportunities to overtake.

We’d passed a fancy 4WD with a camper trailer parked beside the road and at some stage it caught up to us.

Greg and Kylie were at the rear and slowed down a little to let them go past, but they didn’t. When the (absolutely huge-arse) sign announced the Mount Grenfell turnoff was 500m ahead we all began to throttle off. Dave doesn’t remember if he’d seen the 4WD behind us, but the rest of us certainly had. As we got closer we all put our blinkers on, and it was just as the turn off came up that the 4WD started to overtake us.

It all played out simultaneously in slow motion and at warp speed. It kept coming – past Greg, past Kylie, beside me. I blasted my feeble DR horn in the hope that either the 4WD or Dave would hear. Dave was just starting to turn as he caught sight of it in his mirror and straightened up at the last second.

Marra Creek camp.

More to come

As for the rest of the trip, we had some terrific camps, ate some Michelin-star quality meals cooked in the coals, rode for half a day in fog, laughed a lot and upset the National Park hierarchy (while simultaneously being the hero of National Parks’ workers. Greg will happily tell that story). We got permission to ride some sandy shortcut tracks and there was even a day where we only rode one small section of road any of us had been on before and that was through the Macquarie Marshes. There’s a place in there that’s almost always got water over it. As we approached we saw a line of four 4WDs parked on the other side with all the occupants standing on the water’s edge. We pulled up wondering what was going on, then the next thing, Dave charged across through the water. I was expecting him to be swallowed up in some enormous hole, but he made it through without any issues, so the rest of us followed and were congratulated by the folk on the other side.

I’d like to say that was a ‘one-off’, but a few days later some grey nomads in various campervans and caravans had crossed a small causeway and stopped to take photos and videos of us coming across. They actually clapped as we made it over! It was barely a puddle though, and unfortunately for them, they thought it was the ‘big’ water they’d heard about. I guess by the time they got over the next rise and saw a couple of hundred metres of water stretched out ahead of them, they probably realised it wasn’t.

The Bourke Wanaaring Road. The bitumen’s creeping out further every year, but there’s still plenty of bulldust.

Next issue

This seems like a good place to wrap up the first part of our trip.

I’ll conclude it next time, but I’ll let you know now it involves black-soil roads, weather, a rescue mission, and a pugnacious goat named Buddy.

What I’ve learned

• Always check your mirrors
• I don’t like unisex toilets
• Check your spark plugs as part of a service
• Garlic bread in the coals is the best
• Look for the fish-and-chip shop if you see a seagull in an inland town
• Listen to your own advice

Series Navigation<< Sand, The Great Divide with Andy StrapzCheckout >>