At the Gates of Hell
Well, that's what it is called.
The Hell's Gates roadhouse is a bad name for not a bad place. Oodnadatta would be more approriate if called Hell frankly.
We left Borroloola as early as practical (get tent down, pack, refuel etc!). the wind is still blowing, the local natives are still fighting from teh night before and we are freakin' outta here.
Todays track will take us out of the NT and into QLD. The Woologorang roadhouse closed in the last 12 months, so we have to make 319 Km's without refueling. That's fine- 400 should not be a problem. If, I stress if, we don't fall over. When you drop a bike like the GS, it leaks fuel. And then you can have a problem. Just a litre or two on the ground can have you resorting to terrible things.
It's freaking long way- 300+ kays on the dirt. And it changes - bulldust, sand, hard packed, corrugations, river crossings etc. We stop regularly for a rest, wee, drink and feed, but I am so tense and sore and stiff that I just begin to will the sight of the bloody roadhouse to come into view. We take nearly 9 hours to cover the 300 ks.
Rachel, bless her, gets the tent up while I pretend to help. She's not ridden today at all- but it doesn't mean she's not 3 parts buggered too. She is. With the tent up, we cook up and go and have one beer and one coke. As is the norm, people marvel at our tenacity and perhaps our stupidity in taking a bike all this way two up, loaded up etc. I am frankly sick of this shit and plead exhaustion and want to go to beg. Rach is as cheerful as ever and trots out a few familiar lines. It's almost a script now.
We retire to bed by 8pm. I have no recollection of getting in to bed nor falling asleep. It's just morning before I know it. Burketown, here we come.
The Hell's Gates roadhouse is a bad name for not a bad place. Oodnadatta would be more approriate if called Hell frankly.
We left Borroloola as early as practical (get tent down, pack, refuel etc!). the wind is still blowing, the local natives are still fighting from teh night before and we are freakin' outta here.
Todays track will take us out of the NT and into QLD. The Woologorang roadhouse closed in the last 12 months, so we have to make 319 Km's without refueling. That's fine- 400 should not be a problem. If, I stress if, we don't fall over. When you drop a bike like the GS, it leaks fuel. And then you can have a problem. Just a litre or two on the ground can have you resorting to terrible things.
It's freaking long way- 300+ kays on the dirt. And it changes - bulldust, sand, hard packed, corrugations, river crossings etc. We stop regularly for a rest, wee, drink and feed, but I am so tense and sore and stiff that I just begin to will the sight of the bloody roadhouse to come into view. We take nearly 9 hours to cover the 300 ks.
Rachel, bless her, gets the tent up while I pretend to help. She's not ridden today at all- but it doesn't mean she's not 3 parts buggered too. She is. With the tent up, we cook up and go and have one beer and one coke. As is the norm, people marvel at our tenacity and perhaps our stupidity in taking a bike all this way two up, loaded up etc. I am frankly sick of this shit and plead exhaustion and want to go to beg. Rach is as cheerful as ever and trots out a few familiar lines. It's almost a script now.
We retire to bed by 8pm. I have no recollection of getting in to bed nor falling asleep. It's just morning before I know it. Burketown, here we come.
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Happy Turkey Day!
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