Germany (part 1)

 The 22^nd of December was a special day: It was the summer solstice (Most sunlight hours in a day for the year). It also happened to be a full moon.  Of more significance, it was also a lunar eclipse, it was the first time all these stars had aligned in 2000 years!! Of equal significance to me, I was off on my maiden adventure to Germany. It was still surreal as we packed our bags to head off to the airport sweating in long pants and shirt in 30 degrees clutching our jumpers, scarf and coats in preparation for the weather that was awaiting us in Frankfurt!

The eight hours to Hong Kong was incident free with an amazing sunrise as we tracked North West extending the sun sitting on the horizon trying to lift itself up and over by around two hours!! Even at Hong Kong Airport there were only the hint of change with free internet everywhere and the aroma of noodles filling the terminal looking out over the smog hiding the city and mountains apparently behind. It was only as we approached the Lufthansa boarding gate to try and secure some exit row seats that the changes became apparent. Firstly, the entire population at the lounge seemed to have grown by two feet. Secondly, the hair color had lightened considerably, and lastly, a look of suspicion and determination was unmistakable as we all clamored for the sought after seats.

The Lufthansa Aircraft to propel us through the next 13hrs to Germany was probably once the pride of the fleet. 20 years on however it was showing its age with small screens at the front of each bulkhead barely viewable and table trays warn and almost unusable. The service and staff were friendly enough but it was obvious that some serious upgrading was overdue.

Sitting beside an animated Italian shoe designer living in China I was also distracted by the gripping finale of “The Book Thief”, which helped the hours drag by with bouts of sleep-deprived coma sprinkled throughout the flight.  Nevertheless, I enjoyed the thought of Inland China sliding by underneath us, and being served a tasty dish of diced chicken whilst banking left over Katmandu for the last leg into Germany!

By the time we touched down and secured the German stamp in my passport it was 8.30pm and despite an overwhelming sense of tiredness I was appreciating the blurred scenery from the back seat of Tamara’s Audi A4 as we hurtled down the autobahn at 180km per hour!

It was hard to believe that only twelve months ago Tamara and her sister Jacqueline and husband Sven and brother Marco had been with us sweating out a Brisbane Christmas as part of her adventure around Australia. Now here we were driving through the snow sodden terrain, her eyes sparkling and her enthusiasm infectious as she introduced us to Christian  her boyfriend.  Having met him on returning home from her trip, I had the feeling he had heard as much of us as we had of him and so the get to know you period was easy and relaxed.



My new friend Christian



Next morning we opened the window of our room to look out over a roof covered in snow to a valley as serene as it was white! Chimneys in the gaggle of steeply pitched roofs were releasing smoke wafting straight up in the calm morning grey. There was a stream meandering through the village on the other side of a snowy paddock at the base of a mountainside covered with pine trees hosting clumps of snow on the needles. There were no cars, people, animals, birds; just a peaceful quiet start to the day.

 It was way beyond my reality to be getting up at 8.00 with no hint of any sun for the foreseeable future, so after a shower it was time to meet our hosts and begin my first day of exploring!

Tamara’s Family is fourth generation owners of the Forelle (German translation; trout) guesthouse in the tiny town of Hundsbach in northern tip of the Black Forrest. Built in 1871 it is a popular guesthouse in summer catering for families hiking, riding, fishing and generally getting away for pleasant country weekends and relaxing holidays.  Harking back to a time when family holidays were spent in Germany its low ceilings and wood paneling was warm and inviting, surrounded by windows looking over the panorama mentioned above. On the balcony outside was a big fish tank housing large trout, some of which were bound to end up on our dinner plate before too long.



Forelle translates to Trout





Tamara at the Forelle



Our Hosts, Tamara’s family, Ingrid, Ralph, cousin Karen and Grandmother Oma were waiting for us when we emerged for breakfast, already the kitchen was in full swing and I was about to be introduced to my first of three weeks of German breakfast. We are not the usual cereal kind anyway, preferring an omelet for protein and sustenance, but this was certainly neither of the above. Laid out were a selection of cold meats, salami’s and Bratwurst with cheese and an array of bread only some of it I recognized. Still, it was delicious and under Tamara’s observation also included soft boiled eggs in a cane basket wrapped in a purpose made doona which reminded me of a tea cozy!  Coffee with cream was plentiful and was a treat from our usual routine. In particular the Laugen bread (imagine pretzel in a loaf) was worthy of being hunted down and consumed every morning and was great both with savoury and eggs as well as sweet with jam.

So began 5 days of being fussed over and spoilt rotten as guests nothing like I have ever experienced. It was a cross between living with the familiarity of family in a commercial hotel. English was barely spoken but we managed to figure out some basic communication whenever Eva or Tamara was unavailable to act as translators.

 Eva had booked a hair appointment with another of her Australian guests from the nearby town of Buehl so after dropping her off, Tamara and I headed through the fog, winding our way through Sasbachwalden, a beautiful town complete with classic Tudor houses which the Black Forest is famous for. With visibility still limited we continued up and into sunshine and Mummelsee, a tourist mecca for the well healed a long time ago. Rumour has it that the lake beside the hotel was filled with mermaids who were looked after by King Neptune who delighted in filling the guests with rich’s and prosperity. This however was abused by patrons who took advantage of the lovely water creatures causing the king to be angry and cursing the building. It managed to survive several fires and WW2 bombings and is a popular hotel to this day. Many Divers have perished trying to recover the rumored wealth lying at the bottom of the very deep lake. On this day it was frozen over and our goal was to stay on our feet over the ice!



Mummelsee



 



Looking over a sea of fog  to France



We proceeded up the mountain to Untersmatt, a little ski field sitting at around 1300m and far away from the commercial operations I had ever experienced. It also had a clubhouse for a motorcycle club to take advantage of the winding, undulating roads perfect for a two wheel adventure in the warmer weather.

Looking back over the valley I began to get a feel for the geography. The black forest itself sits in the South West corner of Germany and is a rectangular area of around 200kms by 60kms covering 12,000 square km’s with an elevation of 1500m at its highest peak. The Western length of the forest drops down into the Rhine Valley, a lush area perfect for growing grapes and farming in general. The natural border between Germany and France is the Rhine River, in itself a hub of commercial shipping and activity between the two countries with the landscape being mirrored on the French side of the border and perhaps more famous for its wines than the German counterparts. From my feet at the base of the ski field laid a thick and flat sea of fog with the French Alps rising from the serene expanse in the distance. 



 

Christmas Markets

– A German tradition and one which I had heard lots of! This was to be my day of reckoning!!  We wound our way down the mountain to Baden Baden, where the festive atmosphere lead us to a large parkland brimming with music and lights under which rows of stands were set up completing the ambience with the aroma of BBQ Bratwurst, fresh bread, cheese and food I could only guess at!  Interspersed were vendors selling Gluehwein. Traditionally, a warm red wine infused with spices, perfect for the environment we were in. Over time it has evolved with plenty of variations to work our way through!  About this time I felt the need for a quick pit stop, so excusing myself I ducked into the Casino and headed for the rest rooms, not usually a place to come unstuck I confidently entered the signed area to be confronted by two doors. On one there was the letter” H “and on the other “D”!  This was a new one for me and I was a little thrown, where was the plaque of the little man or woman to give me a clue?  I waited a while thinking some one must surely exit and point me in the right direction but as usual when in the situation NOTHING!  Things were getting a little more pressing so a decision had to be made. I reasoned that I had been practicing Herr (Mr) Fischer (Eva’s dad) so my punt was H for Herr! Somewhat gingerly I walked up and peeked through the door ready to beat a hasty retreat if the H was for her… With great relief I had indeed picked the correct door and a new lesson had been learned!



Now thats a BBQ





Getting friendly with the locals!!





And a beer with Santa



Returning to the fray we enjoyed a wonderful night of bustling Christmas cheer, exploring further into the town where the bars and buildings were filled with Christmas cheer. Of particular note was the bar set out as a winter garden with ornate displays of all things Christmas including Santa stopping for a well earned drink where you could join him and one of the 6 star restaurants by the markets with the advent countdown calendar lighting up the front rooms!!

The town of Baden Baden was obviously a wealthy town and I discovered that there a more millionaires here per capita than anywhere else in Germany. Most of them are Russian mining tycoons. The Russian Orthodox Church is also renowned for its gold and lavish décor although I never actually visited it.

It also has a Catholic church that I did visit and the foundation stone was laid somewhere between the 8^th and 10^th century!!

staying warm in Baden Baden

Baden Baden literally translates into bath/bath and was where the Roman’s, recognizing the healing power of the thermal springs came to ease their aches and pains. Caracalla, the Roman emperor even came here to relieve his arthritic aches.

Although taking a pounding in the 1500’s and 1600’s and severely pillaged at that time by the French, it was rediscovered in the seventeen hundreds as a spa town and was visited by the queen of Prussia in the early nineteen hundreds to improve her health. At that time it also became a popular place for celebrities attracted by the hot springs, casinos and luxury hotels along with its race horses and gardens. In the 1850’s and 60’s it came known as the European summer capital. As luck would have it, the town escaped bombing in the first and second world wars and remains as a showpiece of history, culture and beauty today.



Baden Baden Thermal Bath



Littered throughout the Black Forest, the natural warm springs are a popular place for locals and tourists alike to escape the winter cold and relax in another world. I would like to expand on these further later on but it was fascinating to lay eyes on the incredible structures blowing stream into the cold night air and see the old Roman bricks on display showing the remnants of such historical significance! I had never actually laid eyes on anything so old in my life before and my imagination began to run wild at the thought of men in tunics and feathery battle hats running over the same cobbled stones I was standing on!

Christmas traditionally in Germany is celebrated on the 24^th of December with Saint Nic and has only recently been confusing children with the American “Coca Cola” invasion of Santa coming on the 25^th .  On this 24^th we woke to a thick layer of snow covering everything outside our cozy perch in the lodge!! The tiled Roofs were now white as was the road leading into town. I was surprised to see the trout in the fish tank on the balcony huddling around the air filter, the only thing stopping the tank from freezing over!  I could hardly concentrate on my Breakfast as the snow continued its endless pursuit of covering everything whilst we ate. By the time we had filled our stomachs the driveway was barely visible and seeing our generous hosts busy trying to clear the driveway we decided this was our opportunity to combine being useful with my desire to get in some exercise!  After 2hrs of shoveling snow I was drenched with sweat underneath my waterproof clothes and with a shrug of defeat I retreated without any evidence of our labor on the driveway!  From that time on I reduced my expectations and decided I would take the role of only clearing the guest entrance by the front door.



fighting the losing battle to clear the driveway



By early afternoon and without any break from the snow Eva, Christian and I headed out for a walk around town and managed to combine it with some tobogganing down the deserted roads and pathways! Whilst our hosts cooked and slaved over Christmas preparations, I settled in with hot chocolate and Lindser Torte only breaking to set the table for the feast ahead.



Hundsbach



Last year I had been the only Australian from a table of eight people sharing the traditional German Christmas feast prepared in 30 plus degree Queensland heat and consumed surrounded by fans to both cool us down a little and keep the flies off our meal. This year I was again the only Australian in the group of 14 for this gathering. How different it was though this year. With the snow relentlessly tumbling down outside and the heaters working overtime to keep our 150yr old building warm, the roast Goose, red cabbage and Knoedel all seemed somehow so much more appropriate and I decided there and then that our next Christmas in Australia was going to be conducted our way, with cold meats and salad!!

Having made the mistake of consuming too much of the main meal, I was stuffed beyond comprehension getting through the most wonderful array of sweets served for desert!

Another German tradition I struggled with was that of opening presents in the evening after the meals was finished. Presents were served out in the way we would but by ten in the evening for me the energy had got up and gone to bed where I was looking forward to going. It seemed such a shame that after all the thought and effort that had gone into them they weren’t appreciated in the way I was accustomed to.  It was really nice to speak to my son Cooper on the phone though and I have to admit to being thoroughly content after helping Christian dig out his car and tucking myself into bed.



Out Forelle's front door



The 25^th stumbled into light still snowing and I sat by the window appreciating both my Australian heritage and the vista before me in the quiet of our Christmas morning far from home as the snow flakes continued to dance past my window and nestle onto the piles of its comrades outside.

After breakfast we set out to meet Sven and a heavily pregnant Jacqueline at their house. We agreed that we would drop in by the local ski field to check out prices on the way through in preparation for the next days skiing. Having arrived however, the whole area was covered in beautiful powder snow with the bordering pine trees drooping under the burden of so much snow. I could hardly control myself and so Eva and Tamara left to visit family leaving me with several years of pent up excitement and the most perfect conditions you could imagine!  Booking in I was charged 20 euro’s for the skis and when I went to buy a 4hr ski lift pass the attendant asked why only four hours? “Because its 11.00 and the ½ day pass doesn’t start till 1.00”

“Close enough for me” he commented, so another 15 euro’s later and I was let loose spending the day alternating between the groomed runs on soft dry snow and busily negotiating my way between the pines with only the tips coming up every now and then under the knee deep powder until ten o clock that evening where the gang had congregated in the glass bar at the bottom of the hill busily dinking their Gluehwein from the warmth of their vantage point. After joining them for a few drinks to ease the pain of my ripped up ankles I noticed that my German really improved with the restrictions of my fear of not getting it wrong and offending anyone dulled by the drinks “I had to try whilst I’m here”.



Sampling the local with Svewn and Marco



My second day on the mountain was glorious. We woke to blue sky and the dazzling reflection of snow everywhere. Another 100 photos later and Eva and I headed out again with perfect visibility and fresh, groomed snow. From the top of the lifts the view was spectacular looking out over the Rhine Valley and over to the French Alps so clear in the distance. We spent the day skiing and eating at the café who’s walls were covered in the horns and skulls of different animals mounted as trophy’s. Truly a taxidermists pride and joy! 

It was such a joy to share both the skiing and experience with her that by the time we had stripped off the boots and ski gear and were back to Forelle I was a bubble of joy and contentment.

This was going to take some beating.  As the German banter washed around me I struggled to even look interested in keeping up with our most generous hosts. As I checked outside one last time before bed it was snowing again!



Buehl town centre



Our last morning here in Forelle and it was time for me to step up to the plate! We bid our sad farewell to Ingrid, Ralph and Nan and met the rest of the clan at Peters Café, their preferred bakery before catching the train to Eva’s Fathers for the next stage of our adventure. It was here that the magic of Buehl came to life. Covered in snow and dazzling under the sun with clear blue sky as a backdrop another 100 photos still couldn’t do the place justice. Having had the luxury of everyone ordering for me it was time! I confidently grabbed my wallet and ordered my cappuccino and Berliner in my best German, paid and waited as the patient waitress filled my order. The coffee might have been terrible and the orange cup an assault to the sensors but there it was, my first order and I was so proud!! Never mind the waitress shaking her head and everyone laughing at me, I was on my way.



It wasnt great coffee but it was my first German order!



Stay tuned for the continuing adventure as we head down the French, German, Swiss border.

Toowoomba floods

I remember watching in horror as the first pictures of Toowoomba in full flood were shown on German News. I was half way round the world and it seemed impossible that a town on top of a mountain range could be so devastated by water. Surely that can only happen at the bottom of a mountain or on flat plain land? Who can forget seeing cars being washed own the brown rapids and houses picked up from their stumps like match box’s?

Less than three weeks later and having returned to our moldy but intact home, we decided to take an impromptu drive up into the mountain range to see for ourselves how a deluge of water could so devastate the “Garden City”. We have been hearing over and over that locals wanted people to return and support them by spending money so we took up the excuse for the road trip.



Checking out the Wyvenhoe Dam



After negotiating some roadblocks and detours we eventually wound or way through incredibly green countryside to the Wyvenhoe dam where the first signs of damage came apparent. The brown water now safely below the spillway had left tide lines we were to see so many times in the trees way over our heads!

Much of the road winding up the final stretch of mountain had been washed away with huge escarpments of hill dislodged over the bitumen. Still, as we arrived in the city itself on dusk there was little evidence of destruction and the town seemed void of distress.

We checked into a motel and ate a delicious meal at a very busy Thai restaurant recommended by the reception.



smelling the roses at the scented gardens



coffee at Angels

 Sunday morning broke clear yet windy and so we checked out and saunted up to the Angel Café for a coffee before heading into the main street for breakfast at the Oxygen café. Having satisfied our stomach’s we headed up to the scented gardens. Toowooba, near the top of the Great Dividing Range sits at around 700m above sea level, free from the humidity of Brisbane and substantially cooler. It hosts many parks and is famous for its rose gardens sprinkled throughout town.

The Scented Gardens is a park with open grassy stretches and picnic areas set amongst colorful garden beds filled with roses and other flowering plants I am to ignorant to be able to name but old enough to thoroughly appreciate! In one corner there is a Japanese Garden complete with pond and bridge. Surrounding the garden (and many of the others) are pretty cafes and eateries for those not taking advantage of the park facilities.


The Japanese Garden



Leaving, we drove by the railway where the first real signs of the flood in town were apparent. Its so hard to imagine watching a trickle of water running down the middle of the stream that not long ago the water was sucking trees, roofing iron and debris over the buildings around us leaving the reeds as a tide line way over our heads!

The nearby Myer building and Macdonalds had all gone under and We were amazed to see them trading as if nothing had happened whilst the coffee club and shops closer to the creek were still an absolute mess.


devastation like this everywhere!



Water was over this bridge!



After visiting more beautiful parks and taking in the aromas of the different varieties of beautiful flowers completed with bands setting up their equipment under the shade of the tree’s it was time to make our way out to Crows Nest and Holland’s winery. Robert, the owner was an amiable guy who was living out his retirement dream, creating wine from his block of paradise! He was also a collector of Arnott’s biscuit tins and didn’t mind a chat. Maybe that was because we were the first visitors he had seen in over two weeks but I had the feeling he was pretty keen to chew the ear off anyone who would listen about his wine! Two hours and half a dozen bottles of wine purchased later we headed out knowing we once again had to do some retracing as all the roads out were closed.



Robert and Eva and the collection of tins



This however, did give us the opportunity to stop for a late lunch at the Black Forest Clock tower for a late lunch. Again, set in the backdrop of a charming nursery, we appreciated both our savory waffles and ambience of the plants and late afternoon sun.

The drive down the mountain through Murphy’s and Postman Creek was where the damage was most apparent. As the creeks continued down the steep mountain side the tributaries combined into the destuctive tsunami, cutting a swathe of destruction first through Murphy’s Creek where houses were wiped out and the creek still had roofing iron and debris wrapped tightly around the trees and embankment’s, again with brown mud covering everything and showing a tide line that I couldn’t imagine even seeing it with my own eyes. I wondered if this is what the surface of the moon looked like.



Lunch in the gardden



As we dropped further down into the Lockyer Valley and Postman’s Creek, there were cars stacked on cars bent around huge gum trees and black butts. It was the place where nine people had lost their lives and there were concrete slabs beside pools where houses had once stood, now they were so bare that there was no longer any signs of a building at all!! Only around the bends in the rivers and wedged high above the creek bed were the twisted remnants of destroyed lives. It was eerie and I felt a bit embarrassed and almost guilty as we drove through the carnage around us.


Roses Roses Roses



Having cleared the foot of the mountain we bounced our way home, amazed at the sight of every creek bed for the next 120kms. Every one had been gouged out and all the trees and growth on the banks were bent and crumpled and covered in mud. Nothing appeared to have escaped the hand that forced itself over it. Roads were carried away with the bitumen pushed to one side exposing deep holes and gravel traps for the unwary.

By the time we returned home to the humidity by the water we were appreciative of our life here, in awe of mother nature, devistated for the people who have lost so much and amazed by the resiliance of the peoples and community in the face of so much adversity.

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!