Whispered comments that perhaps
Ian and Ray were prepared to have
their bikes shipped on from here, by
what means I couldn’t determine. So
close, yet so far!
The following morning I’d been
saddened by news from Ray. He
would indeed continue this ride how-
ever, he’d come to the realisation that
this would be his last long-distance
ride. At 76 years of age it’d been tak-
ing its toll on his body and mind. He
was struggling and wanted more time
with his wife. A tough decision made
by the ‘old boy’. I’d been encouraged
by his courage to say so.
We’d left Warrakurna with a feel-
ing of trepidation. I felt for Ray and
dropped in behind him as we rode
on. Ian, following Megan, at the
head of the line seemed to be push-
ing the pace. The road stayed true
to what we had witnessed just before
reaching the overnight stop. A hard-
packed base, covered with deep grav-
elly sand and even deeper wheel ruts.
Picking the right wheel rut and stay-
ing in it made the ride easy, but get it
wrong and you’d soon know about it.
There was no changing of line unless
you were prepared to fight it.
Approaching
the
spectacular
Petermann Ranges it was easy to be
lulled into a sense of security. The
rock solidness of the mountains
hid the fact that the track had been
quickly turning to sand. Had it just
been sand it could’ve been tolera-
ble; it was mixed with a hard-packed
crust, mudholes and bulldust (fesh
fesh). An inconsistent combination
to make any rider nervous.
Reaching the border with the
Northern Territory we’d been greet-
ed by the sight of a thin ribbon of
fine red dust. Here was the ‘bad
stuff’. The last community we would
come across, Docker River, lay just 8
kilometres ahead. Eight kilometres
that would take us almost two hours
to complete.
The pain of those two hours had
been lessened by the sight of a mob
of wild horses (brumbies) running
on the track amongst us, kicking and
bucking, they’d seemed to enjoy the
experience as much as we did. Like
TRAVERSE
25
camels, horses aren’t native to Austra-
lia and the damage caused to native
flora and fauna is incomprehensible.
The majestic sight had been dimin-
ished a little by this thought.
Docker River was a chance to min-
gle with a few local kids, all of which
had decided not to go to school.
“Not important”, according to their
spokesperson who we dubbed ‘the
naughty boy’. They all seemed in-
terested in what we were doing and
where we were from. They’d heard of
Melbourne and had been excited to
tell us we were now in the Northern
Territory. Secretly I think they had
more of an interest in Megan. Why
was a girl riding across the desert?
The road ahead continued to throw
what it could at us; semi-wet creek
crossings had added to the mix. In
themselves these weren’t a problem
however, they had filled with sand
washed from the desert plains in
the recent rains and this was almost
impossible to ride. The afternoon
was getting late, a decision had been
made. We’d look for an area to make
camp.
Disagreeing with our decision,
Ian had made it clear he wanted to