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“The things you do for love”
Four o’clock Saturday afternoon, I fired up my trusty Eleven, donned my jacket, helmet and gloves, gave the kids a wave and rolled down the driveway and began the trip to “The Isa.”
My motivation was, naturally, the fact that my lady was up there, and had been gone for a fortnight already. A day or so beforehand, I received news that her return may be delayed for some time yet and that was what tipped the balance and made my mind up to go to her.
I’d been missing her badly up till then but coping ok, but the last phone call did it.
Saturday morning had been spent mainly packing as well as giving the yard a quick trim to keep it presentable while I was gone. The rest of the time I spent lecturing and threatening the boys of what was not to happen in my absence. It seemed to work, by all reports from my neighbors.
So here I was, just at the beginning of what was to prove to be an epic ride, very excited at the prospect of seeing Neriel again. Peeling off to the highway, I was impressed by the feel of the bike with the load on it. The addition of the tank bag with some heavy gear in it had improved the balance of weight no end, so ‘option one’ was decided upon and I turned off the highway at Strathpine and headed along Albany Creek Road and out to Samford and up to Mount Glorius. The bike felt great heading up to the tea room then across the top I started to really relax and take in the scenery. The descent was taken very cautiously though, being mindful of the mass involved here but once out on the causeway stretch, I was in my element and the bike responded accordingly. Upon reaching the T junction, two sportbike riders ranged up alongside and one of them commented that I wasn’t mucking around through the sweepers as he checked out my loaded bike. He asked where I was off to and looked incredulously at me as I told him that I was headed for Mount Isa and bid them farewell and left them to think about that one for themselves. That really tickled my funnybone and had me giggling all the way to Gatton.
I chose the route through town instead of the roadwork-marred highway with its insidious little anti-fatigue bumps, which only serve to jiggle ones’ bladder until the need to pee overtakes the need for sleep. That’s why the Macca’s roadhouse at Gatton is such a popular spot, I feel. Anyway I rejoined the highway and ran up the hill to Toowoomba and the first fuel stop. It was fully dark now so it would be a time to set the driving lights at the best angle before I got too far out in the bush. They just serve to illuminate the dark spots to the upper sides of the already effective headlight which is very noticeable when you lean into a corner and ride right into that black patch. The results were really worth the effort to fit them. Another side benefit is that there is something else to block the icy wind from your lower legs when riding in winter.
The run to Dalby was a sweet ride with only a smattering of traffic to deal with. I stopped at the Servo/KFC double of Possum Park fame. Filled and fuelled, I then took the road to Miles actually riding straight through Chinchilla without stopping for the traditional smoke stop. I did have a long way to go, after all. Another quick refuel at Miles, I took off and nearly skittled a white pig at the rail crossing on the outskirts. Scary moment number one.
It started to really cool off now and I vowed that I would rug up when I stopped at Roma. I spotted a highway patrol car cruising the highway at 11.30 p.m. about 50 kms from town. Luckily, I was being a good law abiding citizen at this stage so he was left to cruise on in search of less sensible drivers. My real worry along this stretch was not only that there were a few hopping furries about but there were a lot of fresh carcasses littering the road and a dead one can take you out just as good as a live one when on a bike so I was riding very carefully along here.
Roma appeared and I idled down the main drag and pulled into the roadhouse for a bite to eat and a change to warmer clothing. I sent the kids a message to confirm that I was, in fact, still alive and had reached Roma. Checked the map and earmarked Mitchell for the next stop so I departed. The first thing that became apparent was that my posterior which had been getting quite sore on the last stretch was now very comfy with the additional padding from the trackpants under my jeans. Ah! Now my full attention could be focused on the road instead of worrying about my rear end. I’d recently had Nitrogen put in my tyres and shocks (S&W’s) and the ride has been improved no end but there’s still that original 24 year old seat filled with 24 year old foam (as in hard) so it looks like I’ll be getting the seat redone pretty soon. The bike felt really strong in the crisp night air and when the 110k signs appeared, I let the beast have its head. Not much nightlife along here but the road left a lot to be desired here with a lot of stutter bumps which really worked the suspension. Still, I made good time till I reached Mitchell and was greeted by ………. Darkness. Not a soul to be seen on the streets. All the shops and servos were closed! It looked like the whole town had an early night. So I checked my map again and saw that I could probably reach Augathella and get fuel there so I continued to press on.
The full moon was helping me spot the joeys as I progressed through the night. I saw a few road trains parked off to the side of the highway and at the same time, my fuel light suddenly started glowing bright red at me. What the??? Only 156k’s since the last fill. Normally, I get 220-230k’s before it comes on. Thinking that it must be playing up I continued on through this tiny townlet called Morven and nearly got to the other end when the bike started to splutter. Curses! I assumed that I mustn’t have filled up properly at Roma so I switched onto reserve and turned back into town to seek out a spot to spend the night. A disused service station looked to have the goods so I parked in close to the wall under the awning, dug out a towel to lay on and resigned myself to a kip here half under the bike still with helmet and gloves on to try to stay warm. Unfortunately, my original plan of riding straight through played against me here as I hadn’t even brought along a sleeping bag with me to curl up in. They say you learn from your mistakes and this was one instance where I know it will never happen again. So it came to pass that I spent the night huddled under my bike with only the sound of the occasional road train (about every ½ hr) rolling quietly through town only to hit a pothole opposite my camp and jolting me awake every time.
Sunrise, Sunday morning and I wake this time to the smell of cooking wafting across from the café. I cruise over and fuel the bike up then enjoy a beaut brekkie before taking my leave.
The run to Augathella was pretty sweet in the cool morning air just having to dodge the fresh carcasses and the occasional live ‘roo. Came up to a sign which indicated that in order to get fuel at Augathella, you had to turn off the main highway and ride about 4kms to the town. After fruitlessly searching for about twenty minutes for the “servo”, I headed back out to the highway (another way) I reached the intersection and saw a roadhouse right on the highway!
Just a very clever way to get unsuspecting travelers to drop into your little town, alright.
The run up to Tambo, then Barcaldine where the landscape started to open out and the trees seemed to nearly disappear from view and the big long straightaways just begged for you to “give it the gas” started to reveal the fact that my bike was using a lot more fuel than expected. I was doing a few calculations as to where it was going. Admittedly, to go for a long distance trip on a large capacity bike with a fifteen litre fuel tank might seem a bit optimistic to some, but I had sat down before I left with a map and worked on my average of 220-230k’s range before needing reserve so, according to my calculations, it wouldn’t be a problem. But, my normal riding mostly is at between 80-100 kmh. Out here, the speed limit is 110ks and that is what I sat on, at least. Had to, that is if I didn’t want a three-dog road train sitting up my clacker, or trying to pass! There were plenty of them out here. Exactly how far I could go was anyone’s guess. When I refueled at Barcaldine, it took 14.4 litres. That low fuel light had been on a looong time.
These last few hundred kms showed just how bad the drought had been up here. Everywhere you looked were just fields of dead grass with the occasional stunted tree to break the monotony. Around Longreach though, it must have rained recently as the table drains had water laying in them so it might get a bit greener in the next couple of weeks
It was on this stretch that I started to hear a mysterious buzzing noise that seemed to be coming from the bike. I couldn’t pick exactly where it was coming from so I just eased up a bit and would investigate it further at the next stop. It got louder the closer I got to town and it really had the wind up me by the time I stopped. The idea of something breaking on the bike in the middle of nowhere was something I hadn’t wanted to think about but that noise was a very constant and annoying reminder of that possibility. I gave the bike the once over and couldn’t find a thing wrong with it that might be causing that damned noise. It wasn’t until after I’d filled up and got ready to leave when I saw the culprit. My helmet’s got decals covering it and just behind the peak, a section of sticker was lifted and that was what was buzzing with the air running over it. I quickly detached the offending section and proceeded on my way, feeling much more confident now I’d solved that riddle. I nearly collided with an eagle which had been browsing on something dead on the road about ten kms out of town. . They’re a really big bird when you get close.
I checked my map after another close fuel stop at Winton and saw that the last few towns were pretty closely spaced so I could relax and enjoy the run to the end. Saw a couple of signs advertising the Blue Heeler pub as the next stop. As I rolled to a stop, I saw the bowsers were locked and an “out of order” sign stuck to the pump. I enquired in the bar and was told that the whole place was out of gas and would have to wait until the next day for the tanker to deliver some from Mt. Isa. Three gentlemen who were in the bar overheard my plight offered to syphon some fuel out of their boat in order for me to finish my ride and meet my lady. I didn’t think about it for long. Ten minutes later, I was ready to roll with a full tank of 100/1 two stroke which would get me to the next servo or further. I’d told them I’d only need a few litres to make it there but they insisted on filling it completely. They wouldn’t let me pay them for it either. To those good Samaritans, I shall be forever grateful. I hope they caught some big ones up the gulf. The bike ran smoothly, if slightly smokey over to Mc Kinley.
The proprietor there warned me of cattle on the road to Cloncurry while he filled the bike so as a thank you, I advised him to put up a sign saying ‘last fuel to Winton’
Needless to say it was a sedate run to Cloncurry as it was fully dark now.
The road between Cloncurry and Mt. Isa can be closely compared with the Numinbah Valley- Nerang road where it runs past the Hinze dam.(one of my favorites) only instead of just a few sets of bends, it lasts for the full 118 kms. Here, the recently resurfaced road offers passing lanes every few miles and I reveled in the sensation of actually cranking the bike over after traveling so far in a straight line and it was a little sad to actually reach the end of the trip. I toyed with the idea of turning around and going back over that road but, I was on a mission and I was nearing its finale.
I pulled in at Macca’s at 8.45 pm for a coffee and a burger then headed for the Irish Club to give my little lady a surprise. The look on her face when I walked in, and the first cuddle and kiss made it worth every mile.
Up There
I didn’t really do a lot of riding while I was in town. Mostly I did the tourist bit when Neriel had to go to work. I got a lot of inquiries about the club from the local riders. I dropped into Bike and Rider (or Ripoff, as the locals had warned me) to get some advice about a popping noise the bike had developed on the way up. Nothing too serious, not missing or such, just a popping noise from the exhaust when idling after it’s good and hot.
I was quickly told that they had no equipment for working on an old bike like mine but said that it didn’t sound like something that would leave me stuck anywhere. The locals were right! This shop is the only one in Mt. Isa. It happens to be a Yamaha dealer. It’s been there since I was last up here 20 odd years ago. They would have worked on bikes like mine back then so my point is this. What did they do with the equipment that they used back then? Do they toss out their toolkits every time a new model is released? I don’t get rid of my tools when I buy a different bike. Ah well. Enough bitching eh? Most of the time was spent with Neriel. It as good to see her girls again plus I met her Mum and just a few of her friends
Friday afternoon, we rode out to her friend Dazzas’ place at Lake Moondarra. It was just as she’d described it. Absolutely breathtaking. We sat on the wharf sharing a bottle of wine with Dazza (I had my usual, coffee) as we watched the sun set over the lake, then up to the house for some homemade pizza. It was the perfect way to spend my last evening up there. We rode back into town. All up, we traveled only about 40 kms on the bike together but it was well worth carting her riding gear up from Brisbane to do it.
Four o’clock Saturday afternoon, I fired up my trusty Eleven, donned my jacket, helmet and gloves, gave the kids a wave and rolled down the driveway and began the trip to “The Isa.”
My motivation was, naturally, the fact that my lady was up there, and had been gone for a fortnight already. A day or so beforehand, I received news that her return may be delayed for some time yet and that was what tipped the balance and made my mind up to go to her.
I’d been missing her badly up till then but coping ok, but the last phone call did it.
Saturday morning had been spent mainly packing as well as giving the yard a quick trim to keep it presentable while I was gone. The rest of the time I spent lecturing and threatening the boys of what was not to happen in my absence. It seemed to work, by all reports from my neighbors.
So here I was, just at the beginning of what was to prove to be an epic ride, very excited at the prospect of seeing Neriel again. Peeling off to the highway, I was impressed by the feel of the bike with the load on it. The addition of the tank bag with some heavy gear in it had improved the balance of weight no end, so ‘option one’ was decided upon and I turned off the highway at Strathpine and headed along Albany Creek Road and out to Samford and up to Mount Glorius. The bike felt great heading up to the tea room then across the top I started to really relax and take in the scenery. The descent was taken very cautiously though, being mindful of the mass involved here but once out on the causeway stretch, I was in my element and the bike responded accordingly. Upon reaching the T junction, two sportbike riders ranged up alongside and one of them commented that I wasn’t mucking around through the sweepers as he checked out my loaded bike. He asked where I was off to and looked incredulously at me as I told him that I was headed for Mount Isa and bid them farewell and left them to think about that one for themselves. That really tickled my funnybone and had me giggling all the way to Gatton.
I chose the route through town instead of the roadwork-marred highway with its insidious little anti-fatigue bumps, which only serve to jiggle ones’ bladder until the need to pee overtakes the need for sleep. That’s why the Macca’s roadhouse at Gatton is such a popular spot, I feel. Anyway I rejoined the highway and ran up the hill to Toowoomba and the first fuel stop. It was fully dark now so it would be a time to set the driving lights at the best angle before I got too far out in the bush. They just serve to illuminate the dark spots to the upper sides of the already effective headlight which is very noticeable when you lean into a corner and ride right into that black patch. The results were really worth the effort to fit them. Another side benefit is that there is something else to block the icy wind from your lower legs when riding in winter.
The run to Dalby was a sweet ride with only a smattering of traffic to deal with. I stopped at the Servo/KFC double of Possum Park fame. Filled and fuelled, I then took the road to Miles actually riding straight through Chinchilla without stopping for the traditional smoke stop. I did have a long way to go, after all. Another quick refuel at Miles, I took off and nearly skittled a white pig at the rail crossing on the outskirts. Scary moment number one.
It started to really cool off now and I vowed that I would rug up when I stopped at Roma. I spotted a highway patrol car cruising the highway at 11.30 p.m. about 50 kms from town. Luckily, I was being a good law abiding citizen at this stage so he was left to cruise on in search of less sensible drivers. My real worry along this stretch was not only that there were a few hopping furries about but there were a lot of fresh carcasses littering the road and a dead one can take you out just as good as a live one when on a bike so I was riding very carefully along here.
Roma appeared and I idled down the main drag and pulled into the roadhouse for a bite to eat and a change to warmer clothing. I sent the kids a message to confirm that I was, in fact, still alive and had reached Roma. Checked the map and earmarked Mitchell for the next stop so I departed. The first thing that became apparent was that my posterior which had been getting quite sore on the last stretch was now very comfy with the additional padding from the trackpants under my jeans. Ah! Now my full attention could be focused on the road instead of worrying about my rear end. I’d recently had Nitrogen put in my tyres and shocks (S&W’s) and the ride has been improved no end but there’s still that original 24 year old seat filled with 24 year old foam (as in hard) so it looks like I’ll be getting the seat redone pretty soon. The bike felt really strong in the crisp night air and when the 110k signs appeared, I let the beast have its head. Not much nightlife along here but the road left a lot to be desired here with a lot of stutter bumps which really worked the suspension. Still, I made good time till I reached Mitchell and was greeted by ………. Darkness. Not a soul to be seen on the streets. All the shops and servos were closed! It looked like the whole town had an early night. So I checked my map again and saw that I could probably reach Augathella and get fuel there so I continued to press on.
The full moon was helping me spot the joeys as I progressed through the night. I saw a few road trains parked off to the side of the highway and at the same time, my fuel light suddenly started glowing bright red at me. What the??? Only 156k’s since the last fill. Normally, I get 220-230k’s before it comes on. Thinking that it must be playing up I continued on through this tiny townlet called Morven and nearly got to the other end when the bike started to splutter. Curses! I assumed that I mustn’t have filled up properly at Roma so I switched onto reserve and turned back into town to seek out a spot to spend the night. A disused service station looked to have the goods so I parked in close to the wall under the awning, dug out a towel to lay on and resigned myself to a kip here half under the bike still with helmet and gloves on to try to stay warm. Unfortunately, my original plan of riding straight through played against me here as I hadn’t even brought along a sleeping bag with me to curl up in. They say you learn from your mistakes and this was one instance where I know it will never happen again. So it came to pass that I spent the night huddled under my bike with only the sound of the occasional road train (about every ½ hr) rolling quietly through town only to hit a pothole opposite my camp and jolting me awake every time.
Sunrise, Sunday morning and I wake this time to the smell of cooking wafting across from the café. I cruise over and fuel the bike up then enjoy a beaut brekkie before taking my leave.
The run to Augathella was pretty sweet in the cool morning air just having to dodge the fresh carcasses and the occasional live ‘roo. Came up to a sign which indicated that in order to get fuel at Augathella, you had to turn off the main highway and ride about 4kms to the town. After fruitlessly searching for about twenty minutes for the “servo”, I headed back out to the highway (another way) I reached the intersection and saw a roadhouse right on the highway!
Just a very clever way to get unsuspecting travelers to drop into your little town, alright.
The run up to Tambo, then Barcaldine where the landscape started to open out and the trees seemed to nearly disappear from view and the big long straightaways just begged for you to “give it the gas” started to reveal the fact that my bike was using a lot more fuel than expected. I was doing a few calculations as to where it was going. Admittedly, to go for a long distance trip on a large capacity bike with a fifteen litre fuel tank might seem a bit optimistic to some, but I had sat down before I left with a map and worked on my average of 220-230k’s range before needing reserve so, according to my calculations, it wouldn’t be a problem. But, my normal riding mostly is at between 80-100 kmh. Out here, the speed limit is 110ks and that is what I sat on, at least. Had to, that is if I didn’t want a three-dog road train sitting up my clacker, or trying to pass! There were plenty of them out here. Exactly how far I could go was anyone’s guess. When I refueled at Barcaldine, it took 14.4 litres. That low fuel light had been on a looong time.
These last few hundred kms showed just how bad the drought had been up here. Everywhere you looked were just fields of dead grass with the occasional stunted tree to break the monotony. Around Longreach though, it must have rained recently as the table drains had water laying in them so it might get a bit greener in the next couple of weeks
It was on this stretch that I started to hear a mysterious buzzing noise that seemed to be coming from the bike. I couldn’t pick exactly where it was coming from so I just eased up a bit and would investigate it further at the next stop. It got louder the closer I got to town and it really had the wind up me by the time I stopped. The idea of something breaking on the bike in the middle of nowhere was something I hadn’t wanted to think about but that noise was a very constant and annoying reminder of that possibility. I gave the bike the once over and couldn’t find a thing wrong with it that might be causing that damned noise. It wasn’t until after I’d filled up and got ready to leave when I saw the culprit. My helmet’s got decals covering it and just behind the peak, a section of sticker was lifted and that was what was buzzing with the air running over it. I quickly detached the offending section and proceeded on my way, feeling much more confident now I’d solved that riddle. I nearly collided with an eagle which had been browsing on something dead on the road about ten kms out of town. . They’re a really big bird when you get close.
I checked my map after another close fuel stop at Winton and saw that the last few towns were pretty closely spaced so I could relax and enjoy the run to the end. Saw a couple of signs advertising the Blue Heeler pub as the next stop. As I rolled to a stop, I saw the bowsers were locked and an “out of order” sign stuck to the pump. I enquired in the bar and was told that the whole place was out of gas and would have to wait until the next day for the tanker to deliver some from Mt. Isa. Three gentlemen who were in the bar overheard my plight offered to syphon some fuel out of their boat in order for me to finish my ride and meet my lady. I didn’t think about it for long. Ten minutes later, I was ready to roll with a full tank of 100/1 two stroke which would get me to the next servo or further. I’d told them I’d only need a few litres to make it there but they insisted on filling it completely. They wouldn’t let me pay them for it either. To those good Samaritans, I shall be forever grateful. I hope they caught some big ones up the gulf. The bike ran smoothly, if slightly smokey over to Mc Kinley.
The proprietor there warned me of cattle on the road to Cloncurry while he filled the bike so as a thank you, I advised him to put up a sign saying ‘last fuel to Winton’
Needless to say it was a sedate run to Cloncurry as it was fully dark now.
The road between Cloncurry and Mt. Isa can be closely compared with the Numinbah Valley- Nerang road where it runs past the Hinze dam.(one of my favorites) only instead of just a few sets of bends, it lasts for the full 118 kms. Here, the recently resurfaced road offers passing lanes every few miles and I reveled in the sensation of actually cranking the bike over after traveling so far in a straight line and it was a little sad to actually reach the end of the trip. I toyed with the idea of turning around and going back over that road but, I was on a mission and I was nearing its finale.
I pulled in at Macca’s at 8.45 pm for a coffee and a burger then headed for the Irish Club to give my little lady a surprise. The look on her face when I walked in, and the first cuddle and kiss made it worth every mile.
Up There
I didn’t really do a lot of riding while I was in town. Mostly I did the tourist bit when Neriel had to go to work. I got a lot of inquiries about the club from the local riders. I dropped into Bike and Rider (or Ripoff, as the locals had warned me) to get some advice about a popping noise the bike had developed on the way up. Nothing too serious, not missing or such, just a popping noise from the exhaust when idling after it’s good and hot.
I was quickly told that they had no equipment for working on an old bike like mine but said that it didn’t sound like something that would leave me stuck anywhere. The locals were right! This shop is the only one in Mt. Isa. It happens to be a Yamaha dealer. It’s been there since I was last up here 20 odd years ago. They would have worked on bikes like mine back then so my point is this. What did they do with the equipment that they used back then? Do they toss out their toolkits every time a new model is released? I don’t get rid of my tools when I buy a different bike. Ah well. Enough bitching eh? Most of the time was spent with Neriel. It as good to see her girls again plus I met her Mum and just a few of her friends
Friday afternoon, we rode out to her friend Dazzas’ place at Lake Moondarra. It was just as she’d described it. Absolutely breathtaking. We sat on the wharf sharing a bottle of wine with Dazza (I had my usual, coffee) as we watched the sun set over the lake, then up to the house for some homemade pizza. It was the perfect way to spend my last evening up there. We rode back into town. All up, we traveled only about 40 kms on the bike together but it was well worth carting her riding gear up from Brisbane to do it.