signed up for!” I screamed at myself.
“Let’s keep going.”
The dunes were relentless. My
shoulders immediately thanked me
as I unslung my heavy backpack and
strap it to the rear of the bike. It
didn’t last long as the very next dune
seemed to laugh at me, sucking the
rear wheel in deep, past the axle. The
next hour was spent digging the bike
out and walking all my gear up the
mountain of sand.
My boots were full of sand. My
hands rubbed raw. Sweat was pour-
ing off me. At least the flies were
friendly.
The sun had slipped below the
horizon as I finally pulled into Dal-
housie Springs. I was exhausted
yet elated that I had climbed that
mountain. I just couldn’t believe I
had done it. The first real challenge
and at that point one of the most epic
things I had ever done. Soaking in
those thermal pools was like God’s
gift to all those who successfully sur-
vive the desert crossing.
Oodnadatta, Coober Pedy. Rel-
atively easy and a chance to spoil
myself with steak and lots of it.
The next challenge, the Great
Victorian Desert. Research suggested
this would be the most isolated leg
and would present a whole different
set of demons to be battled.
Almost 800 kilometres without a
resupply of fuel or water. I had to
carry 21 litres of water, 46 litres of
fuel and allowed myself ten days to
cross this desert. The bike was gross-
ly overweighed, it became a Moby
Dick to my Captain Ahab, I prayed
that it wouldn’t take my leg.
An uneasy feeling that couldn’t
be shaken. I called my sister who
pepped me up. I even stopped a
priest in the street and recited ‘Our
Father’ together. That was crazy, I’m
not even religious. In the end I knew
I was just stalling and had to suck it
up by heading into the desert.
That first day I saw only one car.
TRAVERSE
91
Motorcycle tyre marks remained
from a previous rider, I knew it was
another adventure rider I’d been
talking to prior to both our rides, he’d
been through 13 days earlier.
Knowing someone had been
through prior filled me with a sense
of security. I no longer felt so alone.
I put it out of my mind that ‘Slip’
hadn’t made it through and had spent
a very long and painful few hours
waiting for rescue.
The sand became deeper, the track
tighter as the ride across this desert
entered the second day. An unset-
tling feeling came across me as I rode
through a stretch of badly burnt land.
Despite the fire passing through years
earlier the land had never recovered,
the dead trees were like charred
bodies, watching and judging me. Of-
fended by my presence their clawed
branches pointing at me to move on.
Head down, I rode on, not wanting
to see what was watching me.
The remains of an old airfield, a