Bamboo Odyssey » Australia | Bamboo Odyssey

Benalla Ensign

Jules — Sat, 16 Aug 2014 20:42:41 +0000

Australian greetings

Jules — Mon, 11 Aug 2014 02:18:04 +0000

Twenty one countries by bicycle, twenty one nationalities where all people seem happy to greet us. On a loaded touring bike the vast majority of people lose their road rage and antagonism towards the bicycle. We receive waves, gentle toots of horns, ( though they don’t sound so gentle, the toot toot of a truck horn in a kilometre long tunnel!) smiles, shouts of hello, hallo, bravo, squeals of delight, children running, high fives, the occasional hand clap…..and waving. Each country in turn had its own style of hand waving, perhaps differing slightly from country to country but each wave each hand greeting remains homogeneous amongst the residents. Yes, the hand waves remained the same unless a thumbs up was thrown into the equation.
Not so in Australia.
We have received, thumbs up, and then, like a lazy drawl….the pointing finger raised slowly off the steering wheel… also twinkle fingers where five fingers wave reminiscent of a wiggling spider. Thumbs up again, with pointed finger, sometimes thumb following pointed finger in a sideways arch like pointing a gun harmlessly to the side.
Many of the truckies like to use their entire arm, outstretched clenched fist, there is the outstretched arm, splayed fingers, and then there is the military salute.
There is the frantic wave, arms and hands flying widely in case we do not see them, waves common from backpackers, in combi vans close to bursting or from kids gazing at us as cars overtake. The queens wave, stiff arm, fingers, hand moving, rotating side to side.
There is the “rock on” thumb and little finger….the shoulder and hand lift like WTF?,… and you are definitely loopy with finger doing circles close to the temple….and the singular head nod.
Australians greetings are as diverse and sweet as the fruit handed out of car windows to travelling cyclists. Happiness, sharing, recognition, strangers, a wave hello or goodbye keeps our morale strong.

A long time coming

Jules — Sun, 10 Aug 2014 00:25:28 +0000

“Nullarbor”…”you must be careful”….”crazy”….”how will you carry water?” “Isolation”, “Road trains” references to Wolf Creek and our worst nightmares. 1215km, a distance similar as that of John O’groats to Lands End, ( the length of the UK) the Eyre Highway, across the Nullarbor Plain is an iconic route crossing the largest limestone karst formation in the world with 10 roadhouses breaking the gaps of perceived isolation. Depending upon who you talk to it is flat, never ending, tiresome and boring…..dangerous…..or it is a place of unmarked beauty…perhaps it is a place to find yourself? Well….I wasn’t lost….but perhaps stripped bare, incredibly happy, serene, entertained, entertaining, challenged and we both have come out the other end wanting more. Anyway it is hard to get lost when there is only one sealed road for the entire 1200 plus kilometres.
We left the western gateway town, Norseman as the sun shone through a light fog and we wobbled with as much food provisions as we could carry…just carry! We had added at least an additional 10 kilograms to our usual 30 kilograms of kit, food and water. It would be almost 200km to Balladonia, the first roadhouse yet we knew we would get water from a station a short distance off the highway after 100km. Fraser Range is a working station and caravan park with amazing hospitality, the cheapest….but very limited food supplies…in the next 1100km. Limited, but we were able to purchase some baked beans and frozen bread. We rolled into the station early morning and were very keen to stay for the beauty and friendliness and curious but wary glances of the wild emus. We were welcome to make ourselves a cuppa, use the kitchen, despite only passing through. Fortunately we carried so much food as the roadhouses had bugger all, with us sometimes begging fresh food from their kitchens rather than subsist on dry goods alone. And of course the Grey Nomads frequently gifted us with fresh fruit, and even cooked meals and beer and wine.
Initially our desire was to make haste…time ticking and a vast distance for this section of our journey, let alone final destination, Sydney. It is not easy for us to make haste on the Nullarbor. It is mesmerising, ever changing, perfect camping, discreet and safe. Moody skies, ablaze at sunrise, sunset, 360 degree views changing by the second, clouds forming, disbanding, chasing shadows. Most nights, sometimes the morning too, we relaxed and found warmth around a camp fire. The first 2 nights the mercury dropped to below zero and our sleeping breath froze to morph our tent into solid panels rather than flowing folding fabric, as we packed up camp. The day temperatures were between 16 and 28 degrees however being plagued by wind day in day out, when off the bikes we were chilly. Head winds were mild and we plodded along. Tail winds…..ferocious, huddled behind any shelter we could find when requiring breaks, yet mammoth 30-40km/hr intervals on a fully loaded tour bike felt epic.
Cross winds, much of the time they did not hinder or assist our progress, yet one day as Li was blown into the gravel verge, followed by witnessing a monster road train blown into the verge, we continued on a rutted side track to Nundroo roadhouse where we took refuge, alternating between the restaurant and tent as rain and wind pounded sideways. We waited a day and a half for the weather to become safe enough to ride.
Before Nundroo, there was a day when the clouds miraculously disappeared, the sun in all it’s glory, a tail wind directed us 12km off the Highway to the Head of Bight. Southern Right whales….about 30 incredible creatures with calves frolicking in the shelter of a bay, we spent the day captivated at their breaching, tail lollops, spy hopping (google it) and gentle surfacing. Several times we tried to leave before being spell bound once again. All this in view of the Bunda cliffs to the west and post card white sand dunes and beaches to the east.
The Bunda cliffs stretch for 200km, as if a monster has taking a whopping bite to create a fantastic coastline that left us constantly in awe.
One day we deviated from the highway in search of a cyclists’ log book. Take an unmarked track between kilometre marking x and y until you reach the end of the world, the cliffs and absolute isolation, flat and treeless, howling winds, mist and spray from the crashing waves 90 meters below. Turn left and after 3 kilometres dig up fence post number 3. We dug….no log book, but fulfilled of our wildest fantasies. The salt bush and wild flowers highlighted in all their magnificent as the sun started to dip. We hastily made camp as nature raged about us and the tent our only shelter.
I spotted 2 red eyes with my flashlight. Still dark when we rose, the wind was still fierce but a visit by a dingo kept our spirits high….and wary, so that it would not steal our shoes or other possessions as it circled us for around an hour before disappearing at first light.
There are tablelands, drastic drops to flat costal plain, old ruins of the first settlers, vandalised emergency telephones, no telephone signal, no internet, dog proof fences, rabbit proof fences, rabbits and road killed dogs. Mostly there are no fences.
We cycled Australia’s longest straight stretch of road without a bend for 146 kilometres. I was sad as we finally came to our first turn after 2 days of riding. We had hoped to cycle this stretch in a day but did not bother to push as the morning brought a headwind upon us. Everything happens so quickly, the mind wanders for an instance and when you take a look out at the world again, minuscule trees, grass, the lighting, something has again changed momentously, everything is growing larger as the plain becomes more barren for a time.
I absolutely love the open roads, long distances and isolation. On the Nullabour I felt absolute peace, no fear, no longing, no missing, I felt exhilarated and alive…and I felt I was on a dance floor, intoxicated, whole, on this open road I found a euphoria that fills me the more frequently I live and continue to ride.

Augusta and Grey Nomads

Jules — Thu, 29 May 2014 14:04:22 +0000

We sped towards the most south western point of Australia. National Park Rangers had warned us of approaching adverse weather and rather than bulk and tie down in another perfect wilderness campground we wanted to watch the approaching storm from where the 2 oceans meet.
The wind howled….primarily from behind. Sun came and went behind grey forlorn clouds that moved swiftly above us. Eucalypts debris littered the roads and was caught in swirling eddies that lapped at our tyres, chased our tyres and then died into silence….before another onslaught from yet another direction.
As usual I was behind but I was bubbling with energy and excitement as the weather fuelled me and my imagination…..so yes….I sped on.
Cycle touring for as long as we have, it is far easier to brace whatever Mother Nature throws at us, rejoice in it…..or rather we could complain about the weather and go home.
We didn’t complain…but we did appreciate the undercover bbq’s and steaming hot showers upon arrival at Augusta…..then we waited. I rode 3km mostly uphill for a goon bag……snuggled inside a cosy tent, red wine and listening, feeling, while remaining dry…a raging downpour. Perfect thoughts….but as I left the bottle shop the heavens opened….someone up there with a multitude of buckets….thrown sideways with the gusts of wind that left me struggling to take a straight return route to our sweet home for the night. But no worries….until the last speed hump….goon bag launches up and over my basket, upon the ground like a burst dam trailing rivers of red…and the torrent running into the guzzling gutter that has no right to my hard earned imaginings of the indulgent night ahead.
One of the pleasures of traveling in Australia is meetings with The Gray Nomads….if you are not sure of these travellers the bumper sticker “adventure before dementia” sums them up nicely . When not towing a caravan these nomads will happily take their robust 4wd back up the 3km hill ignoring the onslaught of argameddon to collect another bag of red wine….if asked nicely…or assuming a look of soggy desperation.
So the storm came and went overnight….and it came and went again during the daylight. We strolled the rugged coast, then inland for 18km after a peaceful
nights sleep…. Perhaps I am use to the tent in all weather….perhaps it was the wine….and the coast, the forests, the giants, beloved karri….I would cycle 15000 km again for the love of it.

Goon bags and glamping

Jules — Tue, 20 May 2014 01:35:44 +0000

Another day setting off from Walpole towards a cyclist only hut 55km further east along the Munda Biddi
trail. We had slept the night by the inlet in the shelter of a gas BBQ picnic spot, happily dry packing up as the rain set in. The Munda Biddi is a mountain bike track crisscrossing through beautiful karri forests of giants, and scrubby sandy plains and mysterious grass trees …..on a fully loaded touring bike this is slow hard work. The rain became heavier in sync with the heaviness in our legs. When not slipping the track sucks at our tyres depleting us of energy. Downhill the rear tyres fish tailed and slid….on steep inclines the tyres slipped in pea gravel and sand. Maybe pea gravel is a mountain bikers delight…..it makes me quiver. There was a lot of determination, pushing….and yet incredible reward for every movement forward. South Western Australia is a cycle tourists’ dream….beautiful beyond imaginings.
After 10 km we decided to change course and head for the highway. We have to make Albany in time for Nick who has joined us for a stint, to catch a bus back to Perth and his return flight to the UK. So we will take the highway and head for a much recommended camp site on the rugged coast. We are drenched but increase our speed dramatically. It’s warm enough and our spirits are high as we leave a trail of spray lost into oblivion by overtaking vehicles.
Nick suggests we ask a campground if we can use their kitchen for shelter. Li and I are not that keen as it’s early and we want to make a few more kilometres towards our next home for the night. We reluctantly agree to our friend’s request….and quickly become soft. A wee bit of luxury quickly consumes. We meet Gareth the caretaker and share our meals. He whips out some wine and we are easily persuaded to join him. But we decline his wine in preference to depleting our own supply and to shed some weight….maybe 6 litres of wine is what slowed us down on the Munda Biddi? Yes we still carry the equivalent in water. Our route avoids towns for many days at a time and we like the luxury of a tipple at the end of a day. Aussie prices have proved expensive so we have found a taste for cheap sweet red in a “goon bag”….my sister says I have morphed into a bogan…..4 plus litres of cheap wine in a box and plastic bladder….we are fond of our goon bags. Less glass, more liquid. Anyway I am blissfully happy to go slow and merry amidst mother nature’s finest.
So we drink wine, share bread and are offered Gareth’s luxurious carpeted tent…..what the heck….let’s stay…..the rain will hide our pristine coast until another day and time is less precious having gained 2 days via the highway.
Merino sheep stare, we stare…. Sip wine, use a washing machine, shower and put on blissful clean clothes warmed in the dryer.
No need to pitch the tent we enjoy glamping with electric lights under thick watertight canvas and with carpet under our warmed feet.

Perth Western Australia

Jules — Thu, 17 Apr 2014 09:44:51 +0000

We are in Perth, Western Australia….an Australian, after 11 years absence I am in culture shock. As we slowly cycled border to border, country to country from London, more or less South East, the differences were gradual or when not gradual they were somewhat expected.
To arrive at Perth International Airport, and be greeted “g’day….ow ya goin?”. I was amused…..and very much delighted. I am certainly not the Aussie I once was. I hear the Aussie twang everywhere and it is as exciting as listening to the multiple languages of our past year of travel. I’ve forgotten how to use my bank card in stores, forgotten how to order a beer….midi, schooner, pot…..pint? I speak the same tongue, but I feel foreign, I feel as visible as times when kids chased us screaming ‘tourist tourist’ in Turkey, Azerbaijan, Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan! Well, no matter…you don’t cycle half way across the world and be bothered by feeling different. Perth is a place I have only visited, I have never lived in the most isolated city in the world.
Being back in Oz is like being a child again, learning, listening, new, new, new, everything is new and alluring and I love it. We’ve seen kangaroos, cockatoos, galahas, magpies and funny sounding crows, the bush, sunsets and magnificent white beaches….for me it’s all pleasant deja-vu.
We are taking 3 weeks off cycling, reuniting with long missed friends and family, reuniting with our camping gear, reuniting with the hum drum of sorting visas, banking and replacing very worn clothes. I am behind in my blogging and may find time to recap on Thailand and the amazing welcomes we received cycling the west coast of Malaysia. And next..we head south…..1000km off road on a path through the forest…the Munda Biddi bike trail.