Across two days, with a heavily
laden bike, again, I had managed to
cover just 400 kilometres. I set camp
at one of the wells along the track. I
was exhausted, my nutrition hadn’t
been great for the past few days. I
was playing catch up all over again.
I sat beside my small campfire and
again questioned the motivation for
doing such a ride. Was there a point
to it? I no longer had anything to
prove.
A set of headlights came into view.
Cheryl and Ray. For some reason,
they had decided to keep driving into
the night where normally, they would
have set camp around 4pm.
One look at me was all that Cheryl
needed for her maternal instincts
to take over. She cooked a dinner of
steamed vegetables and barbeque
chicken while Ray set up the show-
er and let me have a wash. Their
kindness was all that was needed to
reinspire me.
The following morning Cheryl
insisted that I didn’t continue with a
cooked breakfast of bacon and eggs,
she also handed me a precooked
meal for the road.
Continuing forever north, the
track took me to a popular camp
spot where a tour group of older
people peppered me with questions.
It seemed to be the same for every
group I came across, enough to in-
spire me to keep going.
I was starting to realise that per-
haps what I was doing was a little
special.
Riding into an Aboriginal com-
munity where I would resupply led
to a chance meeting with the school
principal who invited me to speak
with the children about my adven-
ture. This then led to an invitation
to go into the bush with them for a
day, which then led to an invitation
to return and mentor the kids for the
last term of school. The universe was
taking a funny turn and changing my
life.
Continuing north from my resup-
TRAVERSE 97
ply I headed north into the tropics. It
had been two days since I’d been on
the track and in that time Will and
Lorraine had moved up ahead of me.
Will and Lorraine, a nice couple I’d
met the first morning on the CSR, our
paths had crossed numerous times.
From that point on, everyone I met
wanted to get a photo and chat as
they’d heard of some guy on a motor-
bike attempting to set a new world
record. It made me feel quite special.
The riding didn’t get any easier.
The track capable of changing so
dramatically; deep sand to sharp
rocky outcrops, there was never a
time to relax. ‘Oh shit’ moments that
made me question how I’d managed
to survive.
The track at times so tight that the
4x4’s would just push the dead trees
over. Too many times to recount I’d
come around a corner to find the
branches of a dead tree pointing
straight at me like angry spears.
Avoidance wasn’t always possible,
I lost count of how many spears I
pulled out of my saddlebags.
Bouncing off trees and termite
mounds became the norm, bringing
on nervous laughter, I always man-
aged to stay upright. I had to start
asking cars for spare cable ties be-
cause every seam on my saddle bags
had burst.
And the rocks!
Giant reefs of fossilised coral would
just appear out of the sand. I could
only wince as I bounced over them,
certain that my ride would soon be
over as both tyres would surely be
shredded. It didn’t happen, I laughed
to myself and carried on.
Other travellers told me they’d
been harassed by the dingoes and
wild dogs in almost every camp.
Yes, I’d also seen them around, but I
remember one night I saw a few on
the sand dunes across from me. The
following morning, I saw hundreds of
mouse tracks around my camp but no
dog tracks. I was an easy target along
the entire ride, and not once had they