The Bike 'n Wheels Expedition

The beginning of the ride got off with a bang, and you'll find a brief snippet and some pics from the beginning of the ride at http://outbike.blogspot.com/

It's such an epic ride, and to reach the end, there are a lot of mixed emotions. Relief to have made it that far, yet sadness to be parting from your 'family' of 30 days; exhaustion from long, hot days in the saddle, but with a new found energy to pedal the last kilometres in elation; eagerness to get back home to loved ones and familiar places, but not so excited to be going back to work.

It was with all these feelings that we reached the Gulf of Carperntaria as a collective group, and each person had their own personal reflections and reaching the Gulf had a unique significance for each one.

We've jumped straight to the end of the story, however, without filling you in on some of the bits leading up to this point! Here are a few highlights...

Warren Vale Station
A long, hot day, and our camp for the night was in some disused cattle yards just off the side of the road between the Burke & Wills Roadhouse and Normanton. The cattle yards were on Warren Vale Station, which like the other properties in the region ran brahman cattle (although we didn't have any close by to where we were camped). We rigged up a cool shower down the back of the yards behind a giant old tree, and set up camp around the fences. We knew that Graham from the station was going to drop round, so when a 4WD pulled up and a couple of blokes neatly dressed, in their hats, jumped out, we weren't sure if this was him or not. Looked more like the shire council than a cocky.

"So who's the boss round here?" The driver asked.
"Yeah that's me," I replied, still not quite sure what we were in for. I'm pretty sure we hadn't been breaking any laws in camping where we were, particularly as we had the station's permission, and I couldn't think of anything else for us to get in trouble for!
"I'm Stan, and this is Daniel, and we're Jehovah's Witnesses just out visiting all the people in the Carpentaria Shire," he explained cheerily.
My jaw almost hit the ground. Here we were, camped in a cattle yard in amongst long grasses, not another human around for miles, and we'd been door-knocked by JWs!
Well, you've got to admire their perserverance, as there would have been a disproportionate amount of driving along compared to knocking on doors!

Graham and his wife from the station did in fact drop by, and not only did they drop by, but they were kind enough to bring with them delicious rump steaks and ribs to chuck onto the BBQ. You could tell he had done this a hundred times before, but feeding station workers and not hungry bike riders, the way he rolled out his canvas on the tray of the truck, cracked open a beer and got his implements out.

The sky put on a fantastic show with a sunset that seemed to go on forever, and it turned into one of those magical nights that you can only really have when you're somewhere in the middle of nowhere.

Rain in Bedourie
Of all places for it to pour with rain at 2:30 in the morning, you would never have picked Bedourie to be the one. It doesn't rain much in Bedourie, any local will tell you that. It's a little tiny town that lies on the edge of the Simpson Desert, and borders on the Channel Country. We'd seen sand dunes riding in that day, and while there was a bit more green around than usual, it didn't look the slightest like it was going to rain.

It became a bit of a cooler night, which was a relief after such warm evenings we'd had so far. There was a bit of a breeze even. I half woke up in my swag a while later, however, and it had become completely still. Not a breath of air moving around whatsoever. I drifted back into sleep, only to be woken by fat raindrops landing straight onto my face. Out of bed in a flash, moving things under shelter, and Angus was up doing the same.

"Frenchy, where's he?" We wondered, as he also was in a swag and we hadn't seen him move it under cover. He was just waking up, and fumbling around, drenched in the pouring rain.

"My glasses!" he cried, and we searched around on the muddying dirt, trying in vain but finding nothing. "We'll have a better look in the morning," we told him, carrying his sodden swag under the shed. Rolling out a dry swag, Frenchy crashed out, still wet, under the cover of the roof.

It kept raining heavily during the night, and when we woke it was still drizzling. Poor old Frenchy had put his swag out under a downpipe, which sent torrents of water into his dry swag for the second time around. And his glasses were found in the bottom of his first swag...

Needless to say, it doesn't rain in Bedourie very often.

More stories to come...