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!