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.