A lap of Victoria, so
what? It’s only around 5000 kilometres
but that is in fact the size of the entire United Kingdom and larger than most
of states of the USA. Given the weather
conditions at the time it became a journey of discovery, physically and
metaphorically, a discovery of untraveled roads and personal fears.
The lap started in Melbourne
and finished at the same place, right in the middle of the coast line, for that
reason, in this four-part article, I’ll leave that until last. The greatest discoveries were made in areas
unexplored.
I’d slept restlessly, waking
at 2am to take a pee. The wind had
settled, yet a chill had settled throughout the Nelson Hotel. Green paint flaking from the concrete walkway
back to my room felt lonely, sad. Nelson
seemed to be captured in this walkway, the town felt alone, unloved. I drifted back to sleep, dreaming that the
weather had improved. I saw stars in the
slit between the blinds protecting me from the outside world.
The machine gun rattle of rain
on the tin roof snapped me into consciousness.
It’s 7am, the weather has returned to the way I’d left it the previous
day. I’m going to get wet again. I can’t see this changing. No point complaining, it won’t alter
anything, I have to push on or wait. I
choose the former.
Nelson, the most western town
along Victoria’s coastline is the turning point, I’ll turn right and head
north. There’s a road, or more to the
point, a track that follows almost the entire length of the border between
Victoria and the neighbouring state of South Australia. Sounds like a great
plan.
Following Border Road, I soon
reach the township of Donovan’s Landing.
The Glenelg River plays host to a number of boats and sheds associated
with them. It’s something from an 18th
century landscape. Beautiful. It hides a danger. Kangaroos and wallabies, thousands of
them. The Kangaroos play Russian
roulette with the bike, trying to jump across in front of me, the wallabies a
little smarter and more agile leap away.
I need to keep the speed down and be watchful.
I need to make a detour, head
towards the South Australian town of Mount Gambier, no other reason than to
check my phone, I’ll get coverage there.
The first taste of dirt track appears, apprehension sets in, I’m
worried. Didn’t need to be, it’s in good
condition despite the recent weather.
Mount Gambier is typically
South Australia, beautiful old sandstone buildings, strong looking, beautiful
design, there’s an underlying industrial feel to everything. I get a coffee,
check my phone and take care of my business … not work, that ended four days
earlier. Redundant, that’s what I’d been
told. It made sense purely from a cost
perspective, not from the point of view of long term planning. I was no longer angry. Now confused and disheartened. How could such a large business have such
short term vision? Perhaps this is why I
was disgruntled with Computershare before the decision was even made.
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| Mount Gambier's Blue Lake, the blue is natural and not just a reflection |
Completing a circuit of Mount
Gambier’s famous Blue Lake, I was impressed.
The blue is quite vivid. The whole
scene is something from Jurassic Park, prehistoric and powerful. Apparently this was an active volcano just
4000 years ago. It seemed logical.
Back on the road, the Border
Road and heading north. Giant pines line
either side of the road. Forestry is the
prime business around here, it’s an impressive site, a necessary evil. The weather is starting to get annoying. Strong winds are making the riding tiring;
rain is making it very cold. Why am I
doing this? It would be much easier to
turn around and head home. Flooding is a
serious problem across this region.
Heavy rains have turned the flat, low laying land into a giant inland
sea, cows are the only indication that there’s land under the water. I’m forced
to detour.
The Coonawarra region offers
very little respite from the weather, in many ways it’s worse, there’s no
shelter offered by the trees. This is
wine country, one of Australia’s best, grape vines are the only vegetation,
they won’t stop the wind. I’m forced to
rest in Naracoorte. It’s a chance to
have lunch, I chose a café called Sweet Espresso. Both coffee and food are good, very
good. I’m sated and warm, ready to move
on.
Riding north I laugh about the
conversation with an elderly man I’d had before leaving Naracoorte. He had been admiring my bike from afar, the
stickers on the paniers giving away I was a traveller. He’d told me about his ‘crazy’ son who does
Iron Butt rides. We’d laughed. He’d wished me safe travels.
I now rode towards Bordertown,
a town I had visited many times, it’s on the main road to Adelaide, the capital
of South Australia. I was scared,
terrified. The weather had become worse. Strong winds had become gale force. Trees were being felled all around me. Dark rain cells would drift across the land,
I could see them coming and had no choice but to hope for the best. With them the temperature would drop
dramatically, a clear sign things were about to change. The wind would pick up, the rain or even hail
would fall. I’d had a few close calls
with the wind almost blowing me from the road.
Shaking, I pulled over in
Bordertown and climbed from my bike. I needed
to use the bathroom. Was this genuine or
nerves? I didn’t care, I just needed to
feel solid ground under my feet.
Speaking to a man from ‘down
the road’ he told me about the damage the weather had caused and what it would
mean to local farmers. I felt some
guilt, I seemed to care more about the poor sheep and cows in the paddocks,
huddled together for protection. The
cows were always curious when I passed by.
I enjoyed this. He’d mentioned to
me that a tornado had been reported in McLaren Vale. I knew this was not near me, but had no doubt
that there was possibly one in a cloud burst I’d experience.
No sooner had I finished
chatting to the man that a lady approached me.
“You look like a long distance
traveller, if ever I’ve seen one,” she beamed.
“I guess so,” I replied,
taking the opportunity to postpone getting back on the bike. She enthusiastically told me about her
son. He owns a few Vincent’s and an old
BMW. I marvelled at how it always seems
to be the older people who appreciate what it means to travel by bike. Perhaps they have experienced something
similar, before modern technology made things easier.
Leaving Bordertown, I noticed
that the land changed and so did the weather.
The land was no longer large treed bush, rather the low laying woody
scrub of the Mallee. Along these roads I
even saw a feral pig, eating roadkill I was saddened at the destruction these
creatures cause.
There was no chance I could
pick up the border track now, it was closed even to 4wd vehicles. I had no option but to continue on to the
closest town to the border that I could find, it would be the stop for the
night. I pulled into town, surprised to
see so many people in Pinnaroo I enquired at the motel, to be told that it was
the 100th anniversary of the Pinnaroo Agricultural Show. I was lucky to get a room. The room was nice, the shower was exquisite,
it felt heavenly.
After 431km and 8.5 hours on
the road I was exhausted, more emotionally than anything else. The weather had been a real challenge, I’d
struggled. I ate at the Golden Grain
Hotel, perfectly cooked steak. I thought
about my gear, everything had worked extremely well, the Triumph branded pants
perhaps they only let down, not 100% waterproof.
Sleep came easy as I thought
about required changes to the route, perhaps this was a metaphor for life, we
need to often change route to cope with barriers placed in our path. The shortest way is often not always the
quickest …
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| Pinnaroo, very proud of it's history, especially agricultural |
Morning in Pinnaroo dawned
beautiful, sunny and warm. I packed the
bike and headed for the local bakery for breakfast, I was keen to find out more
about this town of just 500 people. I
waited for the Mallee Heritage and Tourist Centre to open, enjoying a coffee in
the sun. A BMW R1150RT rode past, I caught
the riders eye, we nodded a greeting to each other. The rider pulled in and dismounted. He introduced himself as Jeff, we chatted for
an hour or so, I learned that he was on a day ride from Adelaide. Jeff suggested I was crazy for taking on some
of this area after the recent rains.
Perhaps he was right.
We parted as the heritage
centred opened. I was immediately made
welcome by a group of older present and former residents of the town, all keen
to proudly show me the history of Pinnaroo and the Mallee region. Their enthusiasm was refreshing, I was glad I’d
made the effort, they seemed to appreciate that someone was genuinely
interested in their history.
Heading north on Browns Well
Road I soon came to the dirt, it’s remote out here and the nervous butterflies
started to flutter, I felt anxiety starting to boil in the pit of my stomach,
almost certain there would be sand and possibly bulldust on these tracks. I remembered the question, is the “risk worth
the reward?”, in this instance I told myself it was.
I ventured on and after an
hour or so, the road was surprisingly very good, my confidence on dirt was
coming back in leaps and bounds but all the time at the back of my mind was the
adage of not becoming over confident, that had almost cost me my life not that
long ago. I reached Peebinga, now just a
region, the former town now well and truly in ruins with little more than ghost
inhabiting the area of the former railway terminus.
As if spooked by the prospect
of a ghost town my TomTom GPS became lost, telling there were streets that no
longer existed or others that were not listed when in fact they did exist. I became anxious, which way was I supposed to
go? My maps too weren’t detailed enough
to show the direction I needed. I found
what I thought was the right way and headed off, the road conditions very good,
the riding was great, the land so green, blue tongued lizards strolled from one
side of the road to the other. I thought
how cruel nature could be, these little creatures just starting to warm in the
sun after a winter enforced sleep, desperately trying to cross roads with their
dumpy little legs carrying fat, round bodies, they were almost destined to
fail. I admired their determination.
Meribah, another ghost town
soon appeared and yet again the GPS was lost, bugger, so was I to a lesser
extent. I continued on and soon found
Browns Well Road. Damn! This is not
where I wanted to be, cursing, I did see the positive in it and realised I
would be able to save some time.
Passing through the Berri-Renmark
area I came to be aware of just how big this part of Australia is, rich land
from the meandering Murray River supports thousands of citrus orchards, it no
longer felt like remote country, I needed to find a greater challenge and
headed further north towards the very top of the border between South Australia
and Victoria. Reaching the top, I felt
an overwhelming sense of deja vu, I had no doubt that I had taken this road
some time before, the ruins on the right felt familiar, the carpark for the
houseboats even seemed to have been a part of my past. I have never been here before.
This feeling felt as strange
as that of the border dispute between the two states which, lasted for most of
the 1800’s and into the early 1900’s.
Early surveyors had got the placement of the border hopelessly wrong, to
the point that Victoria was extended westward much to the consternation of
the
South Australian government. I was given
the impression by the people of Pinnaroo that this dispute is still very much
alive. As I began riding south I saw
firsthand that perhaps this is still the case.
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| Border Fence Road ... very tough in places, very rewarding |
 |
Border Fence Road, little more
than a rough track, sits in a weird sort of no man’s land, fenced on either
side between Victoria and South Australia.
The track is obviously used but seemed that neither state takes
responsibility for it, this would be a challenge, one I was looking forward
to. The rains had made the track very
muddy in places, to the point of getting the bike bogged a number of
times. Where the mud had dried it had
turned to holes full of bulldust, please give me mud any day I thought. I was now starting to shit myself, if I came
off out here it could be a while before I was found. I pressed on, albeit at a very slow pace,
eventually I came to a gate, I’d reached the end. Mentally exhausted I rode through the gate,
smiling at myself, I’d completed the toughest track since my accident. I’d proven to the only person that it
mattered too that I could still ride track s like this. I thought to myself, “Never say you can’t”.
I now had to head in a north easterly
direction to meet up with the Victorian border with New South Wales, the Murray
River and soon found that this was a futile effort, the river was in flood and
the road was blocked. I return to the
Border Fence Road to continue south and found that this too was flooded, I had
no option, I had to head back into South Australia and loop around on main
roads, it was a bitter disappointment.
Riding east along the Sturt Highway
towards Mildura, I marvelled at how the past two days riding had been
challenging, a number of dead ends and detours had forced me to reassess the
situation and find alternatives, it seemed that this was poetically following
life. Had I been shafted by the
conditions? I don’t think so. I certainly never went the way I’d intended,
yet I had found alternatives and made new discoveries. Had I been shafted by my former employee,
Computershare, whom I had been loyal to for ten years?
That night, I lay in bed
thinking about how Mildura has a great smell at this time of the year, sweat, aromatic,
perfumed … yes, I was itchy and sneezing … I smiled and drifted off …
