| < < < back to the portfolio | contact us at kev-n-aim@beimers.com : : : |
 January-February issue of 2003. Length: 1350 words |
Now We're Real Aussies Mount Isa. A city of dreams. A city of lights. A city of dazzling romance, spellbinding mystery and unrefined intrigue. Plus, it's got a Wooley's! Mount Isa represented the second major milestone of our Australia-wide cycling tour, if only for the Wooley’s. It represented the last post of name-brand civilization, the last chance of a low-priced Internet cafe, and probably the last city we’d encounter with a roundabout for some time. The third alone was more than enough reason to celebrate. We were due for a rest. And a shower. Only two blissful, populated, salty-aired weeks before arriving at the Isa, we had just achieved our first major milestone: Townsville. We had slipped down into the caravan park pool, relaxed our muscles and enjoyed a hearty sip of our habitual town treat. Three litres of Milo-enriched milk. Townsville represented the first turning point of our trip. A left turning point, actually. We knew that the moment we left the coast, the cities became fewer, the grass yellower, and the three-litres more expensive. The East coast was our safety zone, our training period. Once we turned left, the training was over, and it was time to separate the bikers from the pikers. So we stayed in Townsville an extra day. See, one can say that looking at a map of the Outback is daunting enough. If you’ve got one, go look at it right now. 133 to Charters Towers. 243 to Hughenden. 112 to Richmond. In total, it’s just shy of 900 to get from Townsville to Mount Isa, and even though the size of the font gives the shallow impression that Julia Creek and Cloncurry are major cities, it’s not true; it’s just that those areas of the map have plenty of white space to work with, and cartographers hate white space. By the way, if the political map doesn’t make you want to rent a ute, have a look at a topographical one. Outback Queensland is about 700 kilometres of flatter-than-flat prairie land, with not much more to look at than scrubby grass being consumed by even scrubbier cows, imprisoned between a couple of really vicious mountain ranges (by Canadian mountain standards, they’re really more like middle-weights, but keep in mind that a middle-weight can still sock you in the jaw hard enough to make you go wee-wee-wee all the way home). And of course, for every good hearted bloke out there with a “good on ya” at the ready, there are at least three who get a kick out of bestowing their foreboding wisdom of the road ahead, if not to demoralize then certainly to intimidate. “Do you realize how unbelievably hot it gets out there? Ah, you picked the wrong time of year, mate. Nothin’ out there but dust and crazy people. You know why they’re crazy? Because they live out there. Day in, day out, 50, no, 60 degrees! And no water at all! You gotta carry 40 litres to drink, and another 40 to dump over yourselves! Except when the rains come! Then, hooly-dooly, you’ll just be wetter’n a bag o’ nails in a turnip tree. Cyclones! Thieves! Dengue Fever! Bushfires! The feral pigs’ll eat through your tent, then through you, then out the other side of your tent. Don’t camp at the rest areas, don’t camp on the side of the road, and for the love of God, don’t even think about camping in a caravan park! And road trains? Don’t even get me started on the road trains…” Needless to say, we were a little apprehensive. However, no matter what the ‘experts’ (or the ‘map’) had to say about the road ahead, we had to start sometime. After all, it can’t be as bad as all that, can it? Other people have done it. Sure, other people have had support vehicles, and have trained for months, and, let’s face it, have biked before, but… er… um, what point was I making? In any case, we’d survive. We hoped. When it came time to leave the peaceful sanctuary of the Queensland coast, we waved a teary goodbye and headed for the hills… and hills they were. Confronted by the omnipresent Mingela Range, we climbed and climbed for days, feeling like George Clooney at the end of The Perfect Storm, shouting “She’s not going to let us out!” Then, one delightful morning, we reached the summit. White Mountains National Park, the height of the Great Dividing Range! Finally, we could relax and let the downhills do all the work for a change… until we realized what “Tablelands” was referring to. Now, I’m not from here, but usually when you spend four days climbing a hill, there’s usually a reward on the other side, like a DESCENT! I could go on and on about the difficulties we had crossing the Outback, since it’s very easy to write funny stories about our own misfortunes, but I won’t. The fact is, it wasn’t that bad. Were the distances vast? Yes. Was the water scarce? Yes. Was the sun hot? Of course. But all in all, the trip went pretty smoothly. Surprised? Don’t be. It’s really rather simple to get around all the idiosyncrasies the Outback is rumoured to throw at you… “The sun’ll burn you alive! It’ll melt your tires, and maybe you, too!” Everyone’s seen the weather reports: over 40 degrees, six days out of seven. But here’s an easy solution: the sun’s not so hot when you can’t see it. Just find a shady spot to spend the heat of the afternoon, sipping daiquiris and fanning your glistening brow, then at three or four o’clock, hop onto your bike and pedal off into the twilight. The easiest way to save water, sunblock and probably your own positive attitude is to cycle at night. And the stars are gorgeous. “Those roads are narrow, no edges… I’m not even sure if there’s bitumen.” Anyone who tries to give you travel advice like this probably hasn’t been to the Outback since man last visited the moon, and probably assumes the trip is just as treacherous. From what we’ve seen (and we’ve seen every square centimeter of it, in slow motion), the roads are fine and dandy. There’s definitely good bitumen and bad bitumen – some of the bitumen seems to have been laid using the “glitter technique”, which is to lay down some glue, sprinkle the top with stone, then blow off the excess – but it’s full bitumen nonetheless. If we did it on these trikes, with our metre-wide wheel base, no one else need worry. “And the road-trains... you’re a Dead Man Riding.” Road trains scare cars. They’re massive, heavy, hard to maneouver, and have very loud horns. But, a cyclist has an advantage over the average Honda Civic, provided the cyclist isn’t trying to break any land speed records: get off the road. You can winge all you want about how cyclists have the same rights as any other road vehicles, but face up to the fact that your bike is no match for a 110km/h three-tiered cattle hauling monster. It’s like saying that your fifteen foot motorboat should get the right of way over the Queen Mary, because you were there first. Get off the shoulder, onto the grass, then smile and wave politely at the driver. You’ll both have a better day. “Better you than me.” If anyone tells you this, just respond that you’re inclined to agree. There are too many people out there who will give you all the reasons why you shouldn’t, sometimes so many that you start to wonder why you still should. Just remember, next time you’re crossing the outback on a bicycle, or on foot, or rollerskates, wagon, stilts, or even by car, that you chose this path for a reason, and know that the reason “because it was there” has been a solid motto for adventurers throughout the ages. Not everybody understands that motto, but if you’re one of the ones that do, consider yourself part of the elite. Above all, don’t let the naysayers get you down. We didn’t, and look where it got us. Mount Isa. Okay, point taken. |
| < < < back to the portfolio | contact us at kev-n-aim@beimers.com : : : |
 | |
| © 2003 Kevin & Aimee Beimers. | |