Through the rainforest and into the west

Brisbane was an impressive city; a bit European, full of gardens, pubs, clean streets, and modern buildings. A lovely girl named Jasmin was my host there, and she and her two flatmates made me feel right at home. Wewent for a river walk past a man-made, chlorinated lagoon packed with people baking themselves, went to the contemporary art exhibit and saw some puffy white structures, ate lamb wraps, strolled though the botanical gardens scaring bearded dragons off the sidewalk, went to a ripper of a barbecue at her friend's house, made spaghetti polonaise with my special spices from Savory Spice Shop in Boulder Colorado, and watched "There's Something About Mary." She even went out of her way to help me get a mobile phone, and try to fix my inexplicable and mysterious laptop computer problem. 

I had constant rain for two days after the storm in Brisbane that flattened a bunch of houses. Rain Rain Rain. The 80k ride down to Lamington national park was a splash-o-matic. It pissed on me all day and into the night. Dampness crept into every part of me, and everything in my bags. Impediments abound on the way out of the city, but I only got myself lost once. The rewards were the calm rolling hills and country roads south of the city and the burning ascent to the cold and foggy crest of Tambourine Mountain. The descent down the other side plunged down at 14%, and I got the rig up to 65km/h through sideways rain and stinging ice pellets. The storm that pummeled Brissie had also hit Tambourine Mountain, and left the roadsides strewn with little 1-inch diameter sticks. Glistening in the wet, these presented a heightened challenge.

After a grocery stop in the quaint little town of Canungra, I made my way up to the caravan park in the forest below Binna Burra. On my way, my front tire rolled off a 1-inch lip of tarmac, and began an unrecoverable sideways slide. Slam! Down on the cold black road with my forearm and palm. The truck driver approaching in his rig from behind me probably heard me proclaim my dissatisfaction, as I heard his big diesel lug down as though a surprised foot had been jerked away from the gas pedal. Stung, and finally reaching my soggy camp, I fell asleep writing while the sound of raindrops popped like popcorn on my rainfly. Every so often, one would hit the spot opposite where a ball of condensation had gathered on the ceiling. The ball would be thrust off and blasted into mist by the interior tent mesh to dampen everything below, just a little more.

I woke up to blue sky and rode 23k up to the foggy

entrance to Lamington. I wanted a good hike in the rainforest, and that's what I got. Dense, tropical, rays of light in the mist, a dripping canopy, deep gorges and hundreds of waterfalls. The heavy scent of green life hung, and frogs grunted

from dark hollows. I imitated a grunt, and a half dozen tiny replies followed. Hundreds of thin spider webs crossed the path. Some I ducked under, but most wrapped around my arms and face. A plethora of bright birds shrieked, chirped, and pierced the humid air with punctuated song. Under the

soaked leaves, the leeches lay in wait. When ashoe passed, they latched on, and began theirupward inching. Finally, past the top of the sock and onto warm skin for a feast! I tried to fend them off for the first half of the trek, but alas, there were just too many. So I let them have their fill and waited for the end of the hike to serve my revenge cold. Around the midpoint, there were no less than fourteen crossings of deep whitewater rapids. A relief to the sting of the leeches, but a challenge to stay afoot over slippery smooth boulders and rushing water up to the thighs. I never saw another soul on the whole track.

After 16k, wearily reaching my bike with bloody ankles, and screaming back down the mountain to camp, I found Rick and Candy. From across the campground, they approached me and absolutely humbled me with generosity. They prepared a feast from their little camper van, and offered me everything they had. New Zealand wine, roast chicken, baked potatoes, carrots with honey, sweet potatoes with spicy sauce (my favorite), and tender pumpkin was all mine to savor. Candy even had little chocolate s'mores wrapped in foil which she cooked in the coals of the campfire. We talked into the night until an approaching storm forced us all to take cover. 

I huddled in my tent and dozed as the lightning came. With each bright flash, my eyes would pop open and dart around waiting for the tearing crash and the rippling of the earth under my back. Morning brought more blue sky, and Rick came over with a hot cup of coffee, and invited me to the van for toast and pineapple jam. After photos and goodbyes, and with a full heart and a full belly, I propelled myself west to Boonah.

After 90k, and with more ominous green storms looming, I checked myself into the "Australia Pub" in Boonah where I got a spacious room, three schooners (pints)  of Tooheys, and an "Australia Burger." for forty bucks. The layers of the Australia burger are as follows: Bun, beef, thick Aussie bacon, onion, fried egg, lettuce, tomato, cheese, slice of beet, bun. The steak fries on the side were seasoned with chicken salt, and they soaked up the drippings from the burger. I dipped them in white vinegar, tomato sauce, barbecue sauce, and savored every morsel. The storm that hit Boonah was another booming violent one. I watched it all from the old wood porch of the pub. Unfortunately for the Boonahans, they were having a parade of classic cars when it struck. That was the end of that.

The road out of Boonah was fine until reaching "Cunningham's Gap." Here, the shoulder disappeared, the road trains downshifted and accelerated, and the sun baked me as I crawled up 8 kilometers of 18% grade. I took a well deserved rest for tea and cookies in the bit of rainforest at the top before setting off into the headwinds and vastness of the west.

Decending into the farmlands, I came across a speedo check. Nervously pulling up to the checking booth, I asked if my lycra cycling shorts counted, and they let me go with a warning.

The days that followed were the most trying. I fought for three days, averaging 10km/h into stiff westerlies and camping in the bush. When a road train passes at just the right speed and distance from my handlebars, and the wind is just right, something curious happens; I get sucked towards the last passing axles of the last trailer, and over the white line into the wash of flying pebbles behind the truck. Unpleasant to say the least, and each time warranting a loud curse. Comfort came at the end of one of the windy days though. I stopped in the sleepy empty streets of Inglewood for a cheap burger and coke. The cafe owner chatted with me about my journey, and before he closed the shop with a case of beer in his hands, he gave me two free beef pies and wished me "all the best." The pies, made by the "Outback Pie Company" were quite satisfying as I settled into my bush campsite. Their motto is "Pies so beefy we brand 'em!" Sure enough, they are branded with a logo, and were quite beefy. As I settled in and dozed off that night, my eyes shot open to the sound of a gargling belch a few feet away from my tent. I have now found out, it was probably a koala startled by my rustlings in my tent. Who would have thought a cuddly little thing would make such a foul noise? I was also kept a wake for some time that night by the squabbling of two koalas across the river. they produced the most shrill, choking, screams, something akin to swine were being tortured. By comparison, the sound of the passing road trains was soothing. The combination of the engine, and all fifty-some tires humming down the pavement sounds like a quad-engine turboprop cargo plane coming in for a landing.

A cold morning followed, and I set off into the wind again at 6am. Another day hunched over and struggling to make a joggers pace. At one point, I stopped at a deserted roadside rest area and huddled behind a big plastic rainwater tank for a snack. It was the first time, sitting out of the wind on the warmth of the asphalt, that I dreaded getting on my bike. I had to ask myself, why?The answer: You have to take the bad moments along with the good ones if you want the overall experience to be a rich one. Wind is only temporary, cold is only temporary, and my hestiation was only temporary. It wasn't long before I was comfortable again. After this day, making it to 

Goodiwindi, I broke down and forked over the plastic for a modern motel. I don't regret it. I took two showers, washing the particles out of my puffy eyes, lounged on the bed watching Australian news, strolled down to "Crazy Clark's" (a store much like Big Lots in the U.S.) to load up on goodies to eat, and slept like the dead on a nice firm mattress. The winds died down a bit after my stop in Goondiwindi, and I managed to make 140k, to a delightful camp in the bush the following night. The red earth was perfectly flat amongst the gums and shrubs, and I watched the orange sunset and birds playfully swooping between the trees. After dinner, I dozed to the sound of kangaroos hopping past my tent in the dark.

Almost to my friends at Lightning Ridge, but not quite, I made a 180k haul through the calm flatlands along the southern border of Queensland. It was at the Diran Pub in Diranbandi where I stopped after120k for a steak sandwich and a schooner of Victoria Bitter before making the next 60k to Hebel. When I walked into the general store in Hebel (One of about five buildings), I felt like a kid for a moment. Sunburned and legs aching, I salivated at the cold drinks gleaming behind glass and the big gummy candies in jars. Along with my goodies, I procured a tent site at the same store and had a peaceful night.

Now, I'm finally in Lightning Ridge for a few days of rest, and I am enjoying the warm hospitality of my good friends Gwen and Athol. This is an amazing place, and Gwen and Athol have so much wisdom to learn from. I will tell all about it next time.

Arrival

I had a knot in my belly the whole way over, and I still do. What did I get myself into? How am I going to make it? The knot is from anticipation of adventure, but also because I am eight thousand miles from everything familiar, and making it to Melbourne in a month is looking quite daunting. Brisbane just had it's worst cyclone-strength thunderstorm in a generation. Luckily, it didn't blow down the house I am staying in, but it did blow down a few around here. A bad omen perhaps. But I don't believe in omens.

I was sunburned after about a half hour of riding in partly cloudy weather. The landing was great though. I love hard landings. I love watching the wings flex wildly, and feeling the gears compress low. This one in Brisbane was a good one, good enough to make the big 747 shudder loudly and to make one woman scream. After 47 kilometers of jet-lagged riding, I made it to Stradbroke Island, affectionately known as "Straddie." I had a little trouble getting ahold of my host there, but fortunately I was forced to wait on the grass of a small beach with water birds striding around, and crabs peering at me with stalky eyes.

Zoe, my warm and inviting host, brought me in from the drizzle and cooked fresh fish and chips for me. After this savory meal, we had a stroll down to the "Little Ships Club" for a Tooheys. Here, I met an old Aboriginal fellow, speech a bit slurred from beer, but still barely articulate enough to voice his opinions about land stewardship, American westerns, and the scariness of certain man-eating beasts. He argued that, to be a true steward of the land, one must continually be on the move, so as not to spoil one location too much. Makes sense. However, when I mentioned I grew up in Colorado, he had a bit of an unclear picture of my homeland. He imagines some kind of 1880s wild west shoot-em-up place. He hung his head a bit when I told him it was full of modern sprawling civilization, including all the malls and cars and spoilers of paradise. And this lead to our discussion of wild beasts. I argued that the salt water croc is one of the most fearsome predators, since they will mindlessly leap out of a placid billabong, clamp down on a part of your body (most likely your head), and drag you under water for a live eating. He seemed to think that the Grizzly bear is the most frightening, simply because of the ferociousness of its claws and teeth. We had to disagree.

On Thursday, Zoe and I rode our bikes to a fresh water lake on Straddie called Brown Lake. The water is quite pristine, but is colored brown by the tea trees in the area. We went for a walk down the sandy shore path shrouded by gum trees, and at the terminus, we found a couple getting it on in the water. We burst into laughter, much to the dismay and embarrassment of the lustful couple, I am sure. After a ride back and a homemade lunch at a flower market, we shed our shoes shoes and walked out over the exposed seabed of low tide toward the rusted hulk of an old ship. On the way, sea cucumbers squirmed in pools, and hundreds of blue soldier crabs evaded us in herds, carrying their little round bodies on the sound of a thousand clicking legs. When overtaken, they quickly bury themselves sideways in the sand. The bottom of the ship's hull has rusted away, allowing a mini mangrove to grow inside, and the sea has reduced the sides to a flaking mess. How wonderful to see nature so completely overwhelm a man made object.

Straddie has a beautiful town called Point Lookout, and on Friday, Zoe and I hitchhiked there. We sat on a 20-kilometer long beach, and there wasn't another soul there. The sand of low tide was perfectly smooth, extending out fifty yards from our feet. We also took a walk along the cliffs, and spied some of the sea turtles that Zoe so dearly loves. I toughened up my feet a little by walking barefoot down the road to a pub where I ate a huge pizza covered in five kinds of meat and barbecue sauce.

I spent the last day on Straddie exploring a 4x4 track through the marsh and lagoons behind the east beach. I popped out a mile or so south of Point Lookout, and pushed my bike up the beach for another pass though the ice cream shop and a rolling ride back into Dunwich. Thank goodness for Zoe and her warm generosity. My memories of her and her home are already fond.

Now I'm in Brisbane, and have been exploring this sunny, modern city. Well, it was sunny until last night when the storm came. The forecast is for more storms, storms for another week, and tomorrow I will head south into them.

Prelude to Flight

It begins on a sweet day. New bike day is always a sweet day, but this one is even sweeter. As this bike is lifted from the box, I know it will be the bringer of adventure. 

The idea had been growing in my mind for some time; travel with no obligations, no plan, no car, no hotels, and very little money. This green beast of a bike is the first step. It is made for this purpose, and I'm sure it will serve me well. I will travel with only it, and a set of four panniers attached to the bike containing everything I need to live for five months. Australia is the destination, and the roads will be those of rain forests, flat desert plains, high mountains, island beaches, and primitive forests. I will start in Brisbane. Hopefully, I will meet some great peoplein each major city I travel to. From Brisbane, I have no detailed plan. I will just take recommendations from locals, or simply head off in some direction and see what I find. I know that I will also pass through Melbourne at least twice. Once on my way to Tasmania, and on my way back to the States. I will try to be in Sydney for the festivities of Australia Day, and I might take on the immense Nullarbor Plain, and try to cross it twice to Perth and back. I would also like to find a way to get to New Zealand without dismantling my bike for air travel. Maybe there is a way to travel by sea on a freighter. No matter what happens, my travels will be expansive, distances will be vast, my legs will ache, and the sun will burn me. Why, you ask? Because I can. I'm not on a mission, I'm not searching for anything profound, and I'm not expecting to find inner peace or enlightenment (although that would be nice to have). I just want to ride my bike, see beautiful things, and meet good people. So there you go, this is the beginning, and hopefully you will read on as I ride and get something good from these posts. Maybe I can convince one person to go do something like this, because I believe it will be worth it.