Centre to our final destination . That was the plan . To quote Byron , “ the best laid schemes o ' mice an ' men , gang aft agley .”
As any tough-talking motorcycling gang will tell you , you magnetically attract new blood as you travel . Being hardened office types , we were well prepared for such eventualities . Over weeks we ’ d concocted strict codes of conduct , secret handshakes and initiation ceremonies , outlined in bullet-point over a mere three-hundred-slide PowerPoint presentation . Having then forgotten said presentation , we had to think on our feet . Erring not being too severe , I felt something akin to 70 ’ s classic A Man Called Horse was palatable . Since none of the others had actually seen the film , apparently the description I ’ d painted of hanging a man by chains from his nipples for three days was thought a little stern . We settled for a handshake , traded old tales of our worst papercuts , and welcomed Steve to the group . He ’ d follow us up the country after running some errands in Mildura .
Steve was an adopted Kiwi originally from the UK , on his first week of an around-the-world adventure , taking 17 months to pursue a life-long ambition .
Steve ’ s wife and two daughters would meet him intermittently . It was a huge sacrifice , but he was pursuing something he ’ d never forget , and having done similar trips myself on four wheels , I always admire those travelling for the love it . However , Steve was a proper motorcyclist , riding motocross to a high standard for years , and was keen to tear into the Oodnadatta Track on his lithe looking chaindriven Triumph Tiger 800XC .
Admiring his kit , he had an automated chain-oiler which he was trying out , a SPOT emergency beacon , GPS and high windshield , auxiliary lights , tank-bag ,
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