Turtles at Mon Repos

 We are on a combined work country trip and school holiday adventure!! First up are the turtles laying their eggs on Mon Repos beach just out of Bundaberg. Not quite the same as viewing on a remote Island from the yacht, but certainly easier. It was a warm, humid evening with the threat of lightning not far away!

Then there is the BIG section of the trip. Australias obsession with all things big is something we have decided to take on for fun and an excuse to travel



The BIG barrell




the  BIG bunyip




The BIG mandarin




the BIG banana




the BIG prawn




the BIG orange



Cania Gorge Ride

 

Big Foot, Cania Gorge



I’d like to take you on a journey, stepping back in time around 500kms from Brisbane. Where the petrol station closes on the weekend because, it’s the weekend. Where the pub is the only establishment in town open and where the oversized steaks on a huge plate with vegetables are only $17.00. People here still base values on family and friendships, rather than property and investments.  Out here the supermarket closes at midday on Saturday because… it’s the weekend and everyone should be out doing other things. Obviously people are out doing other things because the main street is completely absent of any sign of life.

I have travelled extensively North through the scenic mountains of the Sunshine Coast, bursting with vegetation as you course through the valleys    and trace along the ridges of the mountain ranges, overlooking the volcanic peaks scattered through the plains running east to the coast. More people are killed here on motorbikes than anywhere else in QLD, but I suggest that’s because more people get away on weekends here than anywhere else.

A run down South leads through more glorious riding landscape. Places like Mt Tambourine, Currumbin Valley and the natural Bridges down to Mt Warning and Byron Bay, who could ask for a more pleasant touring country side?



Cruising in the country



My riding buddy, Jean Marc and I had been looking at other places to visit and struck on the idea of combining a longer ride with some walking at Cania Gorge, 25kms out of Monto around 550kms north west of Brisbane. The Great Dividing Range runs 3,500kms along the entire East coast of Australia and is the fourth longest mountain range in the world and produces a unique geographical occurrence. The moist air flows from the ocean west, until it climbs up the range and thins, expelling its now overburdened load of moisture over the eastern areas, leaving its western boundary devoid of most of its precious cargo. Thus the climate and relevant geological differences have a clear line of demarcation from east to west. Ten years of drought have also taken significant toll particularly on the western side of the range. However, all the recent rain around QLD has turned the dry and brown landscape into a green wonderland, and having seen the transformation of the coastal fringe it was an ideal time to send the front screen west into the unknown.



Jean Marc at Nanango



So at 5.00am on a drizzly Saturday morning we met at a service station just up the road to avoid making any more noise than we should (and annoying our neighbours) and headed west on our eagerly prepared Harley Davidson Road King and BMW GSX 1100 tourer motorcycles The spray from the rear tyres billowing a white silhouette of spray from the rising sun behind, as we chewed on the fresh morning air still clinging to the overnight rain. After a quick stop at Woodford, we wound our way up over the range where the vibrant green nestled amongst the lakes and dams made way for the rolling expanse of hills and pine forests.

Over a coffee at the bakery in Nanango, a town priding itself on its forestry and logging heritage we met Ray, an amiable old retiree who knew everyone that passed by from the council cleaner to the guy across the road buying the paper from the newsagent. ”Went to school with him and became a race caller” he informs us. 

“Remember him in primary school forty years ago, he was pretty skinny then” he comments on another.

I asked him if much had changed in those fifty odd years, to which he replied,” its changed heaps, I used to know everybody back then, now I only know half the people!”  I knew that it was true by what Id already seen.

Jean Mark summed up the 260km stretch to Monto as “moving through air”. My backside summed up the three continuous hours as “numbing.” Certainly the countryside was scenic enough, and I was taken by the signs to the Big Orange and Big Mandarin indicating the regions history for growing citrus in combination with Australia’s obsession with things “BIG”. I was keen to stop at Mundubbera one hundred and twenty kilometres short of our destination, but with plenty of fuel left in the tanks and the highway now bypassing the town we rode on, my backside too far in REM sleep to notice.

As we approached Monto, dark, threatening clouds were gathering in front of us, so as a precaution we stopped at the Big Bunyip to don the wet weather gear. The Bunyip was a mystical aboriginal figure that legend says would steal fish and animals from the billabongs and dams in the surrounding areas. Later on, even the passing drovers blamed the Bunyip for stealing cattle and sheep and would avoid the area.



With the Bunyip



Having avoided the wrath of the Bunyip we cruised into Monto. By one in the afternoon it was already a ghost town. The Grand Hotel on the main street was the only sign of life and was thus the obvious choice to fill our rumbling stomachs. Its weatherboard cladding and yellow sign written stripe occasionally covered with flapping black plastic below the accommodations balcony. The publican was glued to the TAB screen and his matronly wife cooked and served us our hearty steaks in a friendly but typically country no frills manor.

Having satisfied our hunger we rode the last twenty five kilometres into the Cania National Park. Smaller than its counterpart the Carnarvon Gorge further to the North West, we quickly found our caravan park accommodation and checked in, picking up the appropriate walking maps and information. Eager to stretch the legs we took several trails leading up to the “Big Foot” and “Giants Chair” overlooking the red cliffs of the

Gorge opposite.

Kangaroos, a Frenchman and camera!!

Our next dilemma was what to do for dinner. Our original plan was to drop back into town, but the road out was dicey at best and with nothing open anyway our only choice was a sumptuous feast of kit kat chocolate and biscuits. We scavenged some tea bags and added milk to our purchases to round out our meal.

Being the bikers we are, we ate, showered and were tucked in bed by eight o clock!!

Sunday morning started with a blanket of fog trapped in the gorge with the magpies and currawongs unmistakable over the kookaburras laugh echoing through the eerie fog.

We left the campsite early for a run out to the Cania Lake. Certainly scenic and perfect for some photos, we took the opportunity to try our best at glamour photography with the riders the only thing spoiling the shots of the beautiful bikes!!



Lake Cania



Having completed the shoot we took on the remaining walks to the overhang and dripping rocks, both being a little disappointing compared to their Carnarvon counterparts.  The walks themselves though were very pleasant and we enjoyed the opportunity to stretch the legs and take in the peaceful ambience of the easy walk through the sub tropical rainforest.

Having showered, finished our tea and biscuits and checked out, we safely negotiated the narrow road back to the highway and off for lunch at Mundubbera and the Le family Café. Again the heart of citrus country was devoid of people except for a few young boys clamouring for the attention of the pretty waitress about to knock off for the day. We appreciated the steak sandwich and coffee before continuing south on a very pleasant stretch of road.

One of the features of my Road King is cruise control, and we agreed on my taking the lead on these stretches to regulate our speed, not that we had seen many police or that we were ever going to break any records, but the technology just made it that little bit easier. Certainly the extra time and more relaxed state we had acclimatised to allowed me to take in the green countryside just that little bit more. There was no denying the colour, green hills undulated around us with trees and cattle scattered around the vast expanse and there was no hint of the brown, drought ravished countryside that had caused so much consternation for such a long time, but still, it was not the fertile ground of the coast with the vegetation pulsing with life and seemingly on an eternal mission to reclaim any land cleared for human existence. It was more an understated grandeur, not unlike the people we had met so far!

Having ridden through some showers, and with a massive storm building in front of us we decided to break our trip one more time and stay the night at Goomeri, just 200kms from home.



An approaching storm



Our hotel had just been vacated by 100 Vietnam Vet bikers who had enjoyed their Christmas party hospitality there and so after our accommodating host moved all the furniture had the opportunity to park our bikes under cover from the approaching storm.

Our Grand Hotel theme continued with our Goomeri version meal served over several games of pool and friendly banter with the locals all wearing Acubra hats and checked shirts!

Our spontaneous stopover gave us the opportunity to revise the last leg of our trip and so we decided to detour off the main road east and head through the Jimna forest and Jimna bisecting the beautiful Mary River to the east and the logging forest to the west before returning to the main road at Kilcoy. This was great in theory, but as we exited the highway there was a sign warning that the next 88kms were gravel! I immediately pulled over, there was no way I was going to put either me or my bike over those conditions! Jean Marc eyes lit up, salivating at the prospect so we decided to go our separate ways, him via the gravel and me by the bitumen.

As we discussed our plan a litter of dumped kittens tumbled their way out of the long grass! Six pairs of tiny blue eyes looked up to us crying meekly with the innocent certainty of rescue. We could hardly carry six fragile kittens all day on the bikes and at 4.30am there were limited places to take them. We contemplated taking two with us but couldn’t bear to play god and decide which ones to leave. At the point of reckoning a school bus heading out on his run pulled up and after explaining our predicament kindly took all six as presents for his unsuspecting passengers! So as Harley, Davidson and his four siblings began their new adventure we also went our separate ways, our plan to meet back up at Kilcoy 150km away.

On my own for the first time I thoroughly enjoyed the descent through Nanango, Blackbutt, and the Burdekin back into the lush pastures of Kilcoy.

I was feeling very at home in the deep seat of my bike but very conscious of the possibility of unpredictable kangaroos feeding at the side of the road prizing my confidence and backside from the bike!

After a coffee recounting the trips and fortunes of our kittens we headed back skirting around the Summerset Dam, the sun hot on our backs with the apparent wind we created breaking the still air lingering over the water to our left. I vowed to do this ride more often as we wove around the lake to the left with the vast expanse of grazing land lying at the foot of the mountains to our right, an awesome sight from behind the open faced helmet.

Soon enough we were back in rainforest with the whip birds and Lyre birds calling out from the canopy above the narrow road that twist’s its way for around 15km up to Mt Glorious. The last time we rode here it was in July and was wet and cold, this time the road was dry and the air fresh, I think I spent the whole way whistling with delight.

After breakfast at the summit of Mt Glorious it was time to head home. This was it, the finally leg of our fine adventure. Soon enough we stopped at our first set of traffic lights in over one thousand kilometres and as we waved farewell I was thinking of letting my backside return to normal, unpack and open the maps to prepare for our next adventure!

Plastic in the ocean

As some of you know already, I am a beach walker. Thats right folks, I am one of those do gooders that walk my adopted beach every morning picking up the rubbish that is left, washed up or just magically appears over night! For some time now we have been hearing of this big vortex in the middle of the pacific full of plastic, and thought, why cant we just send a flotilla out to pick it up? Well folks I understand now why that is not as simple a solution as one might expect.
Let me use as an example an innocent plastic bucket. It could be a bag, a crate, drum, whipper snipper chord, bottle top,.... anything plastic.
The forementioned bucket, relatively soft and plyable washed around in the ocean soaking up the sun where it goes hards and cracks and eventually cracks. Still relatively large and although ugly, not likely to danger birds or fish.
Forward some more time and a tad of surfing and maybe even a few encounters with rocks and the now brittle plastic smashes into smaller and smaller peices untill eventually they are tiny, bite size morsels for everything from birds and fish, right down to being mistaken for micro plankton eaten by everything from whales to the bottom of the foodchain fish, eventually finding its way to the top!
My point friends, is that plastic does not disintergrate like food products into usable helpful waste back to nature. It merely becomes smaller and smaller pieces of plastic doing more and more damage to our environment, beautiful wildlife and even harder to collect.
So floating around in the ocean, in land fill and littered along our roads and countryside is ever decreasing  bits of plastic doing increasing amounts of damage!!
Please think about that next time you pass a brightly coloured object and put a smile on yours and my face by picking it up and disposing of it in a more appropriate venue.
Thank you in advance

October Storms

Back from our ride just in time for the torrential downpour which has flooded half of Brisbane! Combined with the strong winds that wreaked havoc on the beach was an abundance of litter, platic containers that originally housed pont plants were the main offenders. Ironic that we plant trees to help the environment then leave the plastic to flow into the rivers and onto the beach! I am reminded of some of the beautiful beaches in Northern QLD all covered with similar litter washed in by the ever present SE trade winds and stong tides in the area. We all know of the plastic vortex in the middle of the Pacific yet I fear that is just the tip of the plastic iceburg much closer to home!

Two boys on Two wheels

Who doesn’t like a good hotel and nice things? I know a drink is all the more satisfying when served in fine crystal, and there’s nothing nicer than eating from good cutlery. The paradox for me is that most of my time in nice hotels is spent pouring over travel guides or cruising maps looking for the next adventure which will no doubt end up in accommodation, well lets just say less than five star.
The latest maps in front of me were planning a motorbike ride in the school holidays with Cooper. I had been planning a run along the great ocean road but the logistics proved too difficult so a revised ride was made out West to Tenterfield, Armidale and back down to Coffs Harbour via Dorrigo and Bellingen, great riding country indeed and especially in spring.
As the time to head off drew closer, and after several “test runs” around the South East QLD, I was concerned that I was still biting off more than we were ready for. A trip of two thousand kilometers meant riding more than four hundred km runs each day and I wasn’t sure we could/would want to ride that far each day.
The trip was revised again to cut out Tenterfield and Armidale and wind through the Mount Lindsay National Park to Kyogle, a recognized blend of mountains and scenic riding, all without having to travel on main highways.
We had never camped before and to be honest, I wasn’t sure we could carry all the required equipment. We had just figured on staying in hotels along the way, but as time drew closer we decided it would really add to the adventure pitching a tent wherever we wanted, so we would give it a go.
So, on an overcast Saturday morning, under the threat of rain but with dry bitumen outside the driveway, we climbed aboard our loaded up Harley Davidson Road King ready for five days of father/son bonding and adventure. It was nice to be on the road and the first 70km lead us out of town to Jimboomba and the gateway to country life.




One of the great things about riding is there is no screen in front of you. Especially in an open helmet, there are no blind spots, no frames or borders, just the unobstructed view of the lush green countryside and the aromas of the flowering bush land. It also means that Cooper and I can talk about what we can see, smell and feel around us. We had also agreed on a couple of ground rules; that we would not ride more than one hundred kilometer’s, or an hour without a break, and that we would not ride in the rain. Our first one hundred kilometers found us at Beaudesert and MacDonald’s beckoned for a coffee and drink. A light shower tried to precipitate but nothing could eventuate so we were on our way through the green fields hosting loads of very contented looking cows. As the road narrowed after Rathdowny, and wound up through Mount Lindsay the sound of first bellbirds then whip birds rang through the lush green mountain side, its soothing whistle a harmony over the rumble of the motorbike engine and enticing the cares of the world to melt away with each corner.
With the unmistakable Mt Warning present in the east, we eased our way to Grevillia, the picturesque countryside distracted by our still unseasoned backsides. Whilst stopping to finish off the last of the boiled eggs Eva had prepared for us, we had our first encounter with a group of pushbike riders who were peddling their way over Mt Lindsay to Kyogle for the weekend. After some good-humored banter we left them with their multitude of packs and wearied legs for Kyogle and our first campsite.
Kyogle, a country town replicated over the country with one street lined by stores and providers of food, country clothing and stock for the surrounding farms. There are no malls to get trapped into, just honest, no frills shops behind brick veneer and glass windows. Oh, and of course a pub on a corner, halfway up the street!
Cooper and I parked the bike amongst a posse of scooters and fossiked up and down both sides of the street. Particular attention was made of the second hand shop selling old sporting goods and an endless amount of antique farming and fashion items. Absent were any TVs or electrical goods normally adorning the racks of the city counterparts.
We found the caravan park on the edge of town, a comfortable if not basic park providing the necessities required. As we entered there is a sign leading you to a van down the back of the park. The park attendant was a disheveled, plumpish woman slumped in a chair with an array of native birds walking over her head and chest. She pointed us down to a spot remarking, “Give yourself room between the car and other campers, no need to be too close”!!

Our campsite at Kyogle

We dutifully picked our spot and pitched the tent without issue, picking the softest spot of grass knowing the padding we were expecting from our yoga mats.
Behind the camp ran a creek and a botanical garden that provided a beautiful ambience and the opportunity to stretch our legs in the pleasant surroundings.
Up early the next morning we cooked our breakfast on the BBQ, joining in with our new found peddling friends preparing to journey back to Rathdowny, before packing and gearing up for a big day heading south.
Our Sunday found us at Casino without having to disturb the cruise control. Sitting well below the speed limit allowing us the time to take it all in. Past Casino the grazing land gave way to crown reserve land and National Parks before stopping at Grafton, the city of Jacaranda’s, not yet blooming yet bursting with foliage shedding a green hue in preparation of turning the streets purple.
Heading south down the Summerland Way we followed our nose toward Orana, which seemed to go for far longer than I expected and after a quick drink and stretch at the quaint little town we turned off onto the Dorrigo-Coffs Harbour Road. Google maps show a continuous, unbroken sealed road, and as we began the trek up the tight windy road there was no indication of what was to come!
After around 50kms of the climb the bitumen gave way to gravel, then sand, then rutted, potholed mixture of everything, my worst nightmare!! The last 30km although very scenic took nearly two hours as we gingerly picked our way to Dorrigo. Never have I been so glad to see solid gravel!!
At Dorrigo we calmed the nerves at Del Fuego, and their worlds smallest motorcycle museum, before heading off to the famous skywalk looking over the dramatic volcanic basin.


Dorrigo skywalk
The short run down to Belligen was a cakewalk compared to the road to the summit and as the temperature dropped we pulled into meet friends and eat ice cream. Bellingen reminds me of Byron Bay 25 years ago, a little alternative and hippy woven into the thread of art and tourism.
Nine children running amok was heaven for Cooper and it was really nice to catch up with old friends who shared some local knowledge taking us to a beautiful set of deep wells in the stream with a rope swing and a series of rock pools full of tadpoles
With some sadness we left the gang at Bellingen and made for Coffs Harbour and the Big Banana before pitching our tent at Emerald Beach. If you ever want your siblings to have instant celebrity status, turn up late into a busy caravan park on a Harley. Kids came running from everywhere as we rumbled down the narrow street hosting everything from hopscotch and cricket, to touch football and tricycle drag racing to our campsite. At the same time parents were equally intent on removing their children from the evil invaders that must surely run them down given the chance. This only seems to enhance our reputation and as we made our way to the playground I could hear others buzzing….”that’s the kid who came on the Harley”
That night we slept well on Pizza and gelato.
Scenic dirt road up to Dorrigo

We woke to a beautiful morning, and enjoyed a BBQ breakfast and walk on the beach before heading south for a couple of kilometers and turning back toward Nana Glen. Just that little amount of Pacific Highway was enough, with ever improved roads providing ever more distance being able to be traveled and an ever more vigilant police force to keep everyone in check! Off the highway, and immediately the pace was relaxed with the focus returned to the journey rather than the end point.
Grafton found us following the Clarence river east along the northern bank of the river and possibly the nicest stretch of road and scenery thus far. We caught the barge over the river into McLean, one of my favorite towns with the light poles all painted in different Scottish tartan patterns. At Woodburn we stopped by the river for a break and appreciation before skirting around a thunderstorm cell and taking final refuge for the day at an old friend Linda’s home at Sandy Beach with her son Albert. A jovial night was spent catching up whilst the boys, well, did boys stuff.
The morning sun also attracted some whales playing just off the beach and who could resist a swim to cool off after kicking a football around.
Mid morning found us packed and embarking on the last day of our adventure. The ride up through Lennox Head and Byron Bay was without incident and I felt we were becoming very comfortable and at ease as we took our break at Murwillumbah with the first signs of brewing storm clouds around the mountains ahead.


I’m sure the waitress at the Flamingo Café was bemused when a leather-clad 10yr old saunters up and orders scones with jam and cream and a chocolate milkshake! Never the less they were good and we could have stayed longer but I was growing concerned with the advancing black clouds so we re adjusted our gear and headed for the hills.
I love this countryside and have driven it many times and so was a little disappointed that although we by and large missed the rain, the road was wet and greasy, so the ride was cautious all the way to Currumbin and Nerang.

The rope swing at Hidden Paradise Bellingen

Just as we entered the rat race called the Highway, Cooper fell asleep!! His head began rolling from the backrest of the bike into the middle of my shoulder blades, and most disturbingly over to the sides. I had no choice but to continue for the next few kilometers with one arm holding onto his jacket whilst attempting to shake him from his impromptu catnap. Eventually, we found a service station to pull into and have a rest and water. All the while our phone was showing building storm cells in front of us. Our journey thus far had been incident free and I was very keen to continue that trend all the way home!
Just before Yatala it hit! The heavens opened up and we were instantly drenched with greatly reduced visibility and the familiar sensation of first wet legs, followed by the trickle of water running down the back of the pants until the seat is completely soggy.
With the Yatala Pie Shop as a welcomed refuge we warmed up with a tasty Pie and took the chance to have a last history lesson. The movie cars came to mind as we looked at the old Pacific Highway, barely recognizable from its past days of glory running directly out of the pie shop, now a concrete car park and drive through into a service station as the commuter traffic powered past several hundred meters away without any thought for the piece of history off to the side!
Crossing the Clarence River to Mclean The Big Banana-Coff’s Harbour





The radar was showing a favorable break between the storms, so we set off toward home and as we cruised up the highway it began to dawn on me that in the last 5 days something magical had occurred. Somewhere between the initial naive excitement and sore buttocks on the first day and Yatala, there had grown an unspoken bond, a camaraderie that develops between males that tend to forge a lifetime trust. Was it the ride, the camping, the exploring new places, the uncomfortable nights sleep on smelly yoga mats, the adventure as a whole? Whatever it was, as I sit at home and reminisce I am eternally grateful