Bright, warm sunlight,
streaming through the gap in the curtains.
I lay in bed watching the silhouette of a bird peck at the grass outside
of my room. The day felt like it might
be warm, I should’ve been pleased, I felt out of sorts. I’d woken with a headache despite a good
night’s sleep.
There was no need to explore
Mildura, I’d previously been here numerous times, it’s a nice city, gradually
pulling itself out of the 1970’s, it feels vibrant. The surrounding country is a patchwork of
richly green vineyards and orchards. The
perfume of blossoms hung thick in the air.
A perfect day for riding.
The preceding day had seen the
route meet up with the Murray River, it now formed the border with Australia’s
first state, the original British name for this country, New South Wales. The Murray, Australia’s longest river, one of
the world’s longest, meandering for over 2,500 kilometres, forming part of the
basin that drains water from Victoria, New South Wales and even Queensland, yet
often looking dry to the point of having no flow. Since European occupation it has dried completely
a few times – a common sight for many of Australia’s rivers. Get used to it if you plan on travelling this
wide, brown land. As I followed the
river to its source in the Victorian high country I was about to discover the
Murray in a state that I had never seen before, and doubt will ever again.
Following the banks of the
grand river in roughly an easterly direction I realised that perhaps this day
wouldn’t be as easy as I thought it would be.
Citrus fields flanked my route, the track was in good condition. A road construction crew nodded incredulously
as I passed. I considered their looks
and wondered what they were thinking.
Abruptly my progress was halted, the track now an ocean of thick brown
mud. I considered my options. In the GS’s mirrors, I could see the group of
men watching me. I turned around.
“We were having bets on whether you’d take it on,” the man I thought to be the leader of the group grinned at me. I smiled, searching for a response.
“I wouldn’t take it on,”
another of the group added. “Not even in
a four-wheel drive.”
I nodded confirmation. I understood.
I’m sure they wanted to see the outcome of me taking on the track.
“Yeah mate, the river has come
up overnight. It’s broken its banks,” the
leader explained. Bugger, I
thought. This would certainly change a
few things. Could cause a few problems.
A minor distraction, I
returned to the main road and followed it through the lush agriculture. This wasn’t ideal, I’d been detoured but it
had opened an area of Mildura I had never seen before and for that I was
thankful. It was beautiful, I’d never
considered this side of the country before.
I needed fuel. Nangiloc, on the banks of the river looked
like a good place, perhaps an opportunity to get some intel too. I was told that the river was coming up
quickly and many small communities were already preparing for the worst. Take care, I was warned. Told not to go down dirt tracks that have water
crossings, I thought about it. Apparently,
many of the tracks end at the river’s edge and under these conditions it’s hard
to tell where that is. I was confused.
 |
| Where the track ends & the river starts, who would know? |
Watt Bend Forest, this looked
like it could be a good pace for a camp.
I took to a track and followed it for a few metres, suddenly ending, I
now understood what the service station attendant had warned. The track simply no longer existed, in its place
a massive expanse of water. Where water
usually sits two metres below the top of the banks, it now spread out in
hundreds of metres in all directions.
The bike stationary, I sat and just stared at what I was seeing. There’d be no making camp here today.
Returning to the main track I
searched in vain for a way through.
Futility forced me to reassess the situation. I had little option, I had to return to the
bitumen. Bloody hell! I was on the Calder Highway, THE main road in
these parts. This was far from
ideal. I needed to get off as soon as I
could, the town of Hattah was probably the best option.
 |
| What's so hard to understand with this sign? |
Turning east at Hattah had
worked, I was back following the river, albeit on bitumen. I took some consolation in the fact that it
was a road I had never been on before and soon found myself in Robinvale. Through the massive River Red Gums, I
occasionally glimpsed the Murray, fields and forests alike were awash, looking
more like a latte coloured swamp.
Wondering if I would ever get
close to the banks of the river again I’d resigned myself to just making it to
Swan Hill, another town dragging itself from the past, a favourite of
mine. I’d get lunch, look over the map,
speak to the locals and see what the remainder of the day would bring.
Swan Hill, like many towns
along the Murray River, is from a bygone era.
European settlement dates back to 1836 however, aboriginal history in
the area could be as old as 13,000 years.
The town grew around a punt crossing in the area, the only river
crossing for 100km, and by 1849 a post office was in place to service the
growing agricultural industry. In the
1850’s two paddle steamers navigated the river from the Murray’s mouth in South
Australia, proving that it would be viable as a highway for river transport,
the era of the paddle steamers had begun, opening up agriculture and
transportation.
Paddle steamers became so
prevalent in the area that soon Swan Hill and neighbouring Echuca were regarded
as some of the busiest shipping ports in the world. It’s a feature that exists to this day, on a
lesser scale of course, in a tourism sense.
Lunching at Café Allure in
Swan Hill, I learnt that the river had not yet peaked however, many more roads
and tracks were being closed. I had no
option, I had to continue following the Murray Valley Highway for a while. This was a road I’d travelled numerous
times. I had never seen it so
green. Passing Lake Boga, a unique place
in Australia’s military history, with direct links to both Darwin and Broome
during World War II, I noticed that the lake was full. I’d never seen this before. I’d need to come back. Marvelling at the full lake I turned off
towards the small farming community of Murrabit. The road was narrow, green fields flanking
both sides, insects ricocheted of my helmet like bullets against a steel
drum. This period of serenity was
highlighted by a group of young kids encouraging me to get the bike up on the
back wheel. It wasn’t going to happen. I beeped the horn. They jumped and waved excitedly. I smiled.
Life was good.
 |
| Yep, the river is high. |
Barham became the next stop; an
opportunity to see the Murray River again.
It hadn’t quite broken the banks here, yet was so high that the water
was almost touching the bottom of the bridge that crosses into New South Wales. I’d never seen this before, usually there’s a
drop of around 5 metres. Wow!
The industry around this area
had now become dairy farming, a beautiful sight. I took to several tracks only to find that they
were flooded. In many ways, this was adding
to the excitement of adventure travel. I
had no idea where the road would take me.
I just had a general plan to head towards Echuca, head east!
Hypnotised by the passing
green fields and long straight roads, I drifted away to a world of work, still
wondering how the decision had been made to let me go. Redundant! A terrible word, with 
terrible
consequences. Did it really? I didn’t think so. I was enjoying being away from the politics
and the horrible way that people are treated in the corporate world. Computershare had done me a massive
favour. I was enjoying the challenge.
terrible
consequences. Did it really? I didn’t think so. I was enjoying being away from the politics
and the horrible way that people are treated in the corporate world. Computershare had done me a massive
favour. I was enjoying the challenge.
The bike suddenly
tightened. The rear end became squat,
something popped and the bike leapt sideways!
It was sudden! It was aggressive! It all felt normal again. What the hell was that? In an adrenalin fuelled fever I pulled off
the road and into a rest area. Two
couples of caravaners ate lunch, sneaking the occasional glance, pretending to
ignore me. I assessed the
situation. One of the straps holding my
Ortlieb dry bag to the bike had come loose, wrapping itself around the rear axle,
wedged between the wheel and sprocket hubs.
There was no way I would get this out without taking the wheel off. I cut it back so not to further the problem
and left the remainder wedged into the mechanicals. It would have to do. Frustrated at another setback I continued. I’d just continue without trying to get
closer to the river, Echuca wasn’t far, and with it a cold beer.
Checking into a motel I
wondered why I had done this. In the
depths of my mind I knew this had been the first choice because of the long
day. Five hundred kilometres, mostly due
to dead ends and detours. I was
exhausted. I began unpacking, only to be
accosted by a man in the room next to me.
He seemed too keen to get out of his room. His wife was on the telephone. I understood.
Evan, he introduced himself
as, from Queensland, on a road trip – in a rental car. I got the impression he was keen to have a
beer and discuss travel. I don’t think
his wife was. I went to the Star Hotel,
dinner on my own. Bed early!
 |
| Living in the past! Echuca's 'main' street is a highlight |
Screeching! Squawking!
Chirping! The noise was deafening.
4:30am! I was in the middle of town not the bush. Bloody hell this was loud. The birdlife hadn’t broken my sleep, I’d
awoken naturally. Well rested I switched
on the television to watch the Socceroos take on Saudi Arabia in the latest
Football World Cup qualifier. Perhaps
this had been in the back of my mind when I’d checked in.
After breakfast, I went to the
port precinct of Echuca, faithfully restored to its original condition. Unbelievably the paddle steamers were well
above the dock. Usually you would have to walk down stairs and ramps, now you
had to go up. The river was high.
Planning to leave as early as
possible was put aside as I met up with Evan and his wife, Sonya. We chatted until almost 11am. I hoped that the chat was enough to convince
them that not all cultures are bad, and in fact there’s greater good in the
world than bad.
Crossing over into New South
Wales, the plan to follow the river further east seemed like it might
work. I’d settled into a rhythm of
riding well maintained roads through magnificent red gum forests when the track
came to an abrupt halt. A sign proclaiming
that the track was closed was well in the middle of what was now a lake. This wasn’t going to be easy. I turned around and looked for another
option. It didn’t take long to realise
that almost every way through on this side of the border was closed. Cursing this giant flood plain I was left with
little option. I returned to Victoria.
The southern side of the
border posed a similar issue. The Murray
had come up more overnight. With the
river almost a kilometre wider than its banks in places I had to return to the
Murray Valley Highway. I was now heading
away from the border and desperately searched for a route that would take me
north. I turned left at Kotupna and
headed back in the direction I had just come from until I reached Barmah. The tracks were brilliant here, despite the wet
conditions. I was in a good place and
enjoying the challenge, even the tracks that were closed in wet weather were a
joy to ride. Oh, you rebel I laughed at
myself. The country was delightful. I wondered if this is what it was like before
we started damming the Murray River.
Were floods a natural part of the life of the great river?
 |
| Really? Could anyone resist this? |
Reaching Yarrawonga, the
opportunity was there to cross the border into New South Wales. Back on main roads now, but at least
following the border as closely as possible.
The ride was fantastic, the site of water lapping at the back door of
houses was not. Many caravan parks were
well under water. It put into
perspective my problems. I felt for
these people. Losing my job wasn’t
important.
The occasional glimpse of
mountains appeared on the far horizon.
The landscape would soon change.
The high country. The source of
the Murray River. The end of the river
border.
The water levels around the
Albury-Wodonga region were the highest I had seen so far. It looked as if many places would soon be cut
off. I found a hotel where I could wash
clothes, have a decent meal and watch the opening match of the A-League. It’s a special time, the start of football
season. Sleep came easy.
The thick curtains hid the
bright sunlight that was already warming the land. Enthusiastically I climbed from bed. I knew today was going to be a great ride. I circled Wodonga, looking for the road that
would take me along the Murray River, this was a chance to ride the border
closer than I had at any stage during this section of the ride so far. I knew I would be heading into the mountains and
while the roads would mostly be bitumen they would be tight and twisty. I was excited.
 |
| The Hume Weir, unofficial cause of the flooding |
The first stop was the Hume
Weir. Holding more than 10 times the
amount of water than Sydney Harbour, the dam had more than half of its spill
gates open. It was the source of the
flooding. I was told that this would
continue for a further five weeks. The
communities downstream were in for much more water. I spoke with an older couple from Tasmania,
they’re on their annual three month ‘adventure’. They were amazed I was riding on my own, yet
wanted to know all about my adventure.
We shared a few laughs and marvelled at what each of us were doing. It was a pleasure meeting them.
I felt a tinge of melancholy
as I followed the lake, here on the shores I could’ve camped. The beauty of the scenery was stunning. The sun warmed my riding gear. Any feelings of sadness soon slipped away. I laughed at the thought that any sizable
body of water in Australia is compared to Sydney harbour. Everything is bigger. Perhaps the harbour is little more than a
puddle.
 |
| Bethanga Bridge, Bellbridge ... quite an impressive structure |
Crossing the Bethanga Bridge I
found myself back in Victoria. The
structure was an engineering marvel. I
guess the bridges across the Murray River all were in their own way. Skirting the Hume Weir, I was surprised at
how large the thing is, it seemed to continue as far as I dared imagine.
Perhaps it is much greater than Sydney Harbour.
I laughed again. The ride was
incredulous. I was the only person out
here amongst emerald green pastures. Cows
the only creatures following my progress.
I smiled. I waved. I laughed.
Towong marked the place where
I would again cross the border into New South Wales. You can’t be serious? The bridge no longer
existed. Washed away. I grunted a sigh of disappointment as I
walked along a small, rough track for around 100 metres only to find that this
too was washed away. Like many times on
this ride I was forced to turn around and find another way. It truly was a metaphor for life.
Like an old friend the Murray
Valley Highway was back in my life. I
felt a sense of security. The MVH would
take me where I wanted, no, needed to go.
Khancoban, I’d been here before, from the opposite direction, on a day
not so perfect. I pulled into the
service station to refuel, both bike and body, I desperately felt the need for
chocolate. Paying for my purchase I was
pulled into a conversation with the lady serving and a local policeman. We had a good laugh at the officer’s expense,
he took it all in good humour. I was
grateful for this interaction. Warned
about a particularly rough patch on the Alpine Way. The road was in fact open, I’d been told
otherwise, but I need to be careful.
This news had brought good fortune; it could’ve cost me an extra four
hours of riding.
 |
| The Alpine Way, a great piece of road |
I began the climb into the
highest part of the Australian continent.
The road certainly was rough in areas, but not too challenging. I enjoyed the perfect beauty of the land, so
very different from the last time I was here.
Five years ago, it had been snowing, cold and foggy. With extremely low light it had taken me
three hours to complete just 60 kilometres.
Enjoying the ride, I pulled
into an area designated for camping.
This would be the spot. I would
set camp here for the night. Just me, a mob
of kangaroos and the sight of Australia’s highest peak, Kosciuszko, through the
valley. The night brought a restless
sleep. The kangaroos were curiously
moving around my tent. It wasn’t a worry
just a nuisance I was kept awake. As day
break came I crawled from the tent, the kangaroos were still there, yet now
didn’t seem to care about the intruder amongst their group. I kept my eye on one large male, who would
occasionally stand and look me over. He
was protecting several females that were carrying their young. We had a mistrusting respect of each other.
 |
| Who couldn't resist waking to a view like this? |
I slipped out of camp and was immediately
startled by the honk of a horn. A sudden
burst of adrenalin made me feel ill, had I just pulled out in front of
someone? I pulled to the side of the
road and looked around. A Triumph Tiger
was creeping towards me.
“Hey, are you here for the
rally,” the rider asked me. I had no
idea what he was talking about. Explaining
he was from Geelong and here for some sort of rally, he didn’t explain what the
rally was even though he loved to chat.
Telling him I was headed east he decided to return to where he had come
from. We parted company. I rode on.
Snow was now lining the side
of the road, not a lot, just patches.
Then of all things, two emus were suddenly in the middle of the
road. They scattered as I got
closer. I laughed to myself, this ride
had now had everything. What the hell
were emus doing at this altitude?
I made my way to Jindabyne to
have it confirmed that the Barry Way, the main track over into Victoria, was
closed due to a landslide. Again,
detours! I rode on to Bombala, the
motorcycle friendly town.
I had been to Bombala numerous
times, yet I was forced to take a route I had never been on before. The Snowy River Way. I was stunned to find that the northern side
of the Great Dividing Range was not only treeless, but also dry, very dry. The landscape on the high plains was barren. The ride was amazing. I was soon in Bombala and at the end of the
Murray River section of the lap of Victoria.
Tomorrow I would head towards the coast.
A route very rarely taken …
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