Captain and the Iron Horse Maiden

Chapter 1.

The final plan was set, for distance of almost 16,000 kilometers to be travelled in approximately 60 to 70 days. They’d leave South Australia in June, the beginning of winter, and quickly chase the sunshine, travelling into the warmth of northern Australia’s dry season, it generally spans from about March/April to November. In Australia’s north, the seasons are divided into “the wet and dry.” It is not wise to travel in northern parts of Australia by road during the wet season, roads can flash flood at lightning speed and could prove to be impassable in some instances.

Determined to cross it off the bucket list once and for all would be an amazing achievement, and a most enormously enriching experience to put it mildly. It was totally mind blowing. In their past lives, between them, they had learnt about a myriad of mind-altering substances, but nothing compared to the euphoric high from the experience of this magnificent journey. New strengths found in shifting away from regular comfort zones and taking on the elements, the wild blue yonder, wind in your face, travelling down an unknown road. It certainly did, “Blow the cobwebs off.” Cleansing the mind and spirit. Not to mention spending 24/7 joined at the hip with your loved one. It was brilliant, and amazing as to how much extra there is to learn about each other’s peculiarities, tolerances, idiosyncrasies, stress levels and most of all love. After 38 years of marital bliss, you’d think they knew it all, but don’t be fooled, no one remains stagnant. We all change and aim to grow, nurture and improve ourselves, our relationships and chosen lifestyles.

Pip couldn’t think of a better way to do some soul searching and reconnect, while sitting astride her iron-horse, behind her handsome iron horseman, Captain Courageous as she called him, singing the blues at the top of her gut-wrenching, tone deaf voice. The best thing was no one else could hear, road noise drowned it out. Convinced that riding a motorbike with assorted playlist music therapy blasting into the ears from the intercom speakers inside the motorcycle helmets, had to be the absolute best mental therapy, cheaper, and a whole lot more fun than the shrink’s couch.

Playlists were made from endless choices, thousands of songs covering a lifetime of their favorite music genres from rock, jazz, blues, soul, pop and country. However, the sheer exhilaration of this unforgettable journey over all others will be etched into their minds for evermore. It made Pip and Tex feel like crazy teenagers again. (But a lot more sensible we’d hope.)

Of course, one’s relationship must be compatible before embarking on such a journey to begin with. Many a sob story had been shared in the female bathroom at caravan parks. It goes like:-

“I thought our relationship would improve if we travelled Australia together in retirement, but things have become untenable.” Before spending 6 months in a small white box together, commonly known as a caravan, a couple must be compatible. Try it upon a motorcycle and learn what living within close proximity is all about. For Tex and Pip, sleeping in a small blue two-man dome tent called Igi, (cos it looked like a little blue igloo,) is cozy, literally shoulder to shoulder, dressing whilst flat on ones back in the tent, (sit ups a plenty, great for your abs.) Limited wardrobe here, the less things to keep track of, the better organized Pip was. Scrambling around searching for a head scarf or one sock, with all their worldly possessions crammed into this tiny crawl in crawl out space, one must be minimalistic. Don’t even think about bringing high heels or a curling wand. You never know where they may get shoved.

Months of planning and purchasing necessary items to ensure a trouble-free journey. Bertha had to be in fine form mechanically, the old girl’s 20 years old after all.

Having purchased a small dome tent that could be packed up and fit into the top box. The majority of small tents were just a couple of centimeters too long to fit into Bertha’s top box behind the pillion seat. Finally, a tent small enough was found in the army disposals store. A purchase of two zip together sleeping bags and 2 roll up self-inflating mattresses, plus two small inflatable pillows were ideal and surprisingly comfy, you soon work out the exact amount of air to blow in, so they are perfectly comfortable supporting the back of your neck, and not too hard, this completed the boudoir. Often at the end of a long days ride they were so exhausted even a rock for a pillow would suffice. Everything was kept to the absolute minimum. Three pairs of undies and socks each. Two tee shirts, one pair of jeans, a sarong, thin tracky daks a thin but warm cashmere jumper, One pair of thermal undies and top for the freezing beginning and end to the journey. Pip wore her riding boots and had one pair of soft flats that squashed together into a skinny place, along with a pair of rubber thongs for the caravan park showers. Tex just took a pair of thongs along with his riding boots.

No need for the makeup pack, the helmet will smudge and ruin the look anyway. A tinted moisturizer and one lipstick, the only cosmetic Pip used, including sunscreen of course. Forget a manicure, Pip kept her nails short and practical, wash and wear, brush and go hair is an easy refreshing change. The smile on your dial, the glow in your complexion and the spring in your step, from the sheer exhilaration of this journey kept them looking good enough, or so they thought. Anyway, who cares, they were happy and natural. Perhaps slightly weather beaten at times too.

Two small travel towels from camping stores were light and compact. A couple of head lamp torches, a five-meter extension cord with a four-plug adaptor to charge all their appliances in camps with a powered site. A lightweight portable charger was the alternative option.

Two one litre water bottles. A tiny tin of International Roast Coffee. Sugar was poured into a small calcium tablet bottle. Tex had been sugar free for years, always claiming he was sweet enough. Pip planned to turn sugar free on this journey but couldn’t quite manage it. Milk was purchased from the supermarket in mini UHT cartons along with daily fresh fruit to be consumed and re purchased every day or so. Other daily food requirements were bought on the road as they went. Keeping a tin or two of baked beans and oatmeal biscuits on board, should they be famished and need to re-fuel themselves out in the middle of the donga. A small one pot billy with a miniature gas flask and gas cooker could heat up three cups of anything in less than two minutes. It all packed together into a small box. Mugs, plate/bowl combo and cutlery for two completed the food kit. Experience told them, anything that could leak should be in a sealed plastic. A small first aid kit, the smallest sized battery charger and rechargeable tyre pump with pressure gauge made Bertha a fully laden iron pony.

Self- inflating sleep mats were tied on a rack above the rear top box. The sleeping bags rolled up tightly, and covered with plastic rainproof, gaff taped, then strapped on top of each pannier (the luggage compartments) forming armrests either side of Pip. Everything else had a specific way of being packed into both panniers. Pip amazed herself with just half an Aldi shopping bag to complete her wardrobe for over two months. She figured she could pick up any small extras as she went. Should she gather any excess baggage, it could always be posted home. The same leather pants and jacket were worn every travelling day.

Chapter 2.

On a cold winter’s morning in June 2017, Bertha the charcoal coloured boxer 1100RT was all saddled up and rearing to go. Due to a freezing cold start to the road trip, the bulk of their wardrobe would be worn. Full of anticipation and excitement they hadn’t slept well the previous night, rose early and donned their thick winter tights or thermal undies, followed by explorer socks. Singlet. Skivvy, Finest cashmere jumper, hoodie, leather vest, leather jacket. Layer upon layer, (like a Sara Lea Apple Danish.) Nylon 100% rainproof jacket is a necessity to go over everything should the heavens burst down unexpectedly. Believe me, they will at some stage. The nylon or plastic rainproof cuts out the wind chill factor too. It must be rainproof, not just shower proof. (Speaking from experience.) They each had a pair of rain proof trousers don’t think you’ll look good in these: One size fits nobody. but they sure do the job in an extreme down pour. Leather pants, scarf, inner gloves, heated gloves, sunnies and lid, (Helmet) plus boots finished off their somewhat bulky but practical travelling attire. Sitting upon a motorcycle for a road trip takes a fair amount of preparation to dress properly in the first instance, ensuring rider comfort for the long haul and avoid delays by having to stop and adjust or re-layer up on the road. It’s easy to be fooled with a warm start to the day, remember the travel breeze will be cooling. Tex still wore his black leather GP boots from his stint in the army at age 17. He had nicely shaped a piece of leather and glued it onto the top of the toe area, doubling its strength where extra wear occurs from lifting the gear lever. The water, thermos, cake and 2 bananas all within easy reach to cover food requirements for day one on the road. Not to forget the stocked-up lolly pocket.

At last, they headed off through the Adelaide Southern ranges and McLaren Vale’s beautiful undulating hills covered in lush green vineyards. Through Kangarilla, the home of the legendary cross between a kangaroo and gorilla. According to local folklore, this creature swings through the trees and bounces onto the vehicles of unsuspecting motorists.

They wound their way through the pretty green valley along Bull Creek Road and over to Strathalbyn via the picturesque southern Mt Lofty Ranges. A great coffee and cooked breakfast can be had at the Bean Machine Café on Main Road. Motorcyclists always welcome. While in town, it’s worth a visit to the corner of High and Grey Streets. A magnificent statue of The Isle of Mann Motorcycle Racing Champion Kenny Blake 1960s era, on his racing bike. A sculptured masterpiece created by welding hundreds of motorcycle parts and tools together to form the racer on his bike. Handcrafted by local renowned Goolwa artist James Stewart.

It was a bright sunny morning but chilly. Pip had her heated gloves onto the highest setting. A long flat sealed road leads to Langhorne Creek and toward the crossing of the Murray River. A quick twinkle at the public toilets whilst waiting for the punt/car ferry to cross the mighty Murray River at Wellington SA. It can take about ten cars at a time, normally only a few minutes wait is required.

Australia’s Murray River is believed to be the 3rd longest navigable river in the world, behind the Amazon and the Nile. The river’s length is about 2,520 kilometers, from its source high in Mount Kosciusko National Park to the River mouth in Goolwa South Australia, about 2 hours downstream from their current river crossing in Wellington South Australia. There is a great pub at Wellington, with good meals to enjoy, while watching the river roll by.

The new world class motorsports racing track due for completion in 2018, known as ‘The Bend.,’ at Tailem Bend, an exciting development on this route. Tex and Pip had previously been invited by members of The Ulysses Motorcycle Club to check it out prior to opening. It was impressive, someone said it’s the only track in the world, where you can see the whole of the track from the Grandstand. Accommodation is also available trackside with rooms overlooking the course. There is plenty of room for parking and has loads of potential to successfully host world class motorsports events. Situated about ninety minutes’ drive along the South Eastern freeway from Adelaide.

Their first night’s plan was to reach Tooleybuc. As this journey was all about following the sunshine, Victoria and southern NSW would be omitted from the itinerary this time of year. The weather would most certainly be too cold for the old arthritic joints of this pair. Besides, these areas had been covered and explored extensively when they were younger.

The plan was to find a motel room in Tooleybuc, the weather wasn’t conducive for camping yet. They couldn’t wait to get further north and begin the real camping adventure. Tooleybuc is situated on the border of NSW and Victoria which entailed travelling over 300 kilometers, enough for day one on the road.

Tex planned to be off the highway by 2 or 3 pm each day. Before the wildlife roam or hop up to the roadside for a feed, as they do every evening and early morning. The grass that grows on the edges of the highway is lush as it collects the water run-off from the camber of the road. Their golden rule was never to travel at night and around dawn or dusk. The risk of hitting a 2 metre tall bounding kangaroo would be devastating for all. The experts say, don’t panic swerve or brake. Keep your cool and just plough on straight through it, gutsy, courageous or plain stupid. Apparently, this is your best option should the unmentionable happen. (But this pair of mad enthusiasts never dwell on such negative thoughts.) Fortunately, they have never had to put the theory to the test. Riding with an experienced iron horseman is comforting, plus the bonus of being astride Bertha BMW.

Lunch, stretch the legs, thermos of coffee, snack and fuel at Pinneroo, in the Murray Mallee District. Bertha had a large 28 litre fuel tank which easily carried a fully packed bike with pillion about 530 kilometers on a good day with favorable weather. Not bad fuel economy at under $30.00 a tank. In fact, this writer can’t think of anything else that offers as much fun and value for money in one day. Most travelling days were planned for 300 to 500km weather permitting. In preparation, to assist with fuel economy and good health, they had both been dieting and lost about 15 kilos between them in body weight prior to departure.

It was a nice blue-sky day but the chill factor from the wind was noticeable by 3pm. Pip was wishing she’d donned her plastic over jacket at Pinneroo. The countryside was speckled with quaint farmhouses and buildings, immersed in patchwork shades of green and ochre paddocks. Crops and sheep stretching out for hundreds of kilometers along-side the Mallee Highway. Large expanses of olive and grey twisted mallee scrub separated some of the farms. Big puffy white cumulous clouds whished by overhead. Occasionally the sweet fragrance from the blossoming Golden Wattle growing alongside the highway was pleasantly inhaled. Tooleybuc was thankfully not far off, meeting upstream with the mighty Murray River again, this time at the border of Victoria and New South Wales.

They desired a warm motel room, food, hot shower and a comfy bed to settle and relax. After weeks of intense preparation, they felt relieved to be finally on the road. It was easy to see at a glance, the chosen motel was like many motels, running on tight budget. The heater barely worked, thankfully electric blankets in the bed worked well. The batteries on Pip’s heated gloves had drained during the last hour of this day’s journey. Normally they last for up to 4 hours, she had never used them on high for a whole day before now. Pip sat on her hands in the warming bed waiting for her knobbly old arthritic fingers to thaw out. She stared blankly at the brick walls, reflecting on the adventures of their first day on the road, it seemed surreal. To her horror she noticed many small drill holes in walls, visible around the room. Pip found this a bit creepy. However, upon close inspection the holes appeared to have been refilled. It seemed like the motel was in the midst of a renovation, perhaps a new owner had just taken over.

Upon arrival, as Pip was checking in at the office, she noticed the proprietor was a little sloppy to look at, not that Pip wanted to judge anyone. But he had this constant dribble, yes saliva oozing from the corner of his mouth. It was a little off putting; she didn’t mention anything to Tex about it. After all everyone has peculiarities and health issues to deal with. But upon observing all the little holes in the walls of their room she felt somewhat suspicious. Was Pip doing that thing- bad habit of hers, over thinking again? She counted 20 or 30 refilled random drill holes in the walls. They were difficult to spot as the brick walls were multi coloured with a highly textured rough surface. Pip an artist of sorts, a very visual person, she spotted the holes in an instant. Tex never noticed. Not to worry, Pip decided she wouldn’t be practicing any nude yoga tonight. They were warm and comfortable, having endured a beautiful blue sky first day of travelling. Bertha purred through without a hitch, the music on their intercoms played a great variety of old favourites all day, Tex and Pip were thrilled to the back teeth that this dream of wanderlust had finally reached fruition. Having arrived at their planned destination on day one. Pip really didn’t want to spoil the moment by voicing her paranoia about the dribbling proprietor and the filled in drill holes. She just knew Tex would not be happy with packing up everything and finding new accommodation at this late stage. He looked so happily contented and decidedly knackered. The only disaster being the eggs. Travelling with a little plastic camping egg container of half a dozen eggs was a last minute after thought and clearly not going to work. They discovered all their eggs to be shattered and scrambled with shell, this idea was promptly ditched in the outside bin. Lucky they were in a sealed plastic bag. Tex had already broken out the emergency can of baked beans and bread for a la carte motel style as there wasn’t a restaurant in house. Clearly, they weren’t prepared to move for a good 16 hours or so.

After a peaceful night’s rest, they were ready to begin day two of the journey. Departing at 9.30am. Not being big breakfast people, a coffee and a brekkie biscuit or a piece of fruit got them started. By mid-morning a brief stop, drink, brunch and stretch then back in the saddle. The crossing of the totally boring Hay Plains lay ahead. Around 300 kilometers of flat nothingness. A smattering of trees plus low growing mulga was the extent of vegetation. Not much here to look at in the way of scenery, the highway is well sealed and straight. Enormous fenced farming acreages spread out alongside the road, neighbouring farmhouses were at times five or more kilometers apart. It seemed like a good day for a nap. Bright sparkling morning sunlight shone through big cotton wool clouds. Pip snuggled down into her cozy seat and was well tucked in, feeling delighted that the weather was fine they were commencing day two on the road. The sleeping bags strapped on top of both panniers either side formed soft armrests. Tex could always tell when Pip had fallen asleep, as her body often slumped forward into his. Tex didn’t mind providing her helmet didn’t press into his. It’s hard enough holding one’s own head up without the burden of an extra. Depending on the situation, Tex would deliver the rude awakening of a backward head butt. Or the music switched off, and a message through the intercom interrupted her slumber with. “This is your flight captain speaking. Can the pillion please refrain from slumping forward? Excuse the vernacular, but you are putting unnecessary pressure on the flight captain’s ‘farken’ neck. It is a beautiful blue day with a pleasant south/westerly tail wind. I expect we shall reach our destination by 3pm today. Have an enjoyable flight. Love you.”

The ambiance was perfect, endless playlists of music were invaluable. Bertha still had a factory inclusion of an old cassette player tucked away in a neat little compartment under the left fairing. They hadn’t played cassettes, since their kids recently taught them about playlists. (Very behind the times.) So quick easy and convenient. They still played vinyl records at home; playlists were like magic. Shuffle up and a constant surprise package of great road trip songs. Highway Star, Wild Thing, My Blue Jeans, Rocky Mountain Way, Highway to Hell. Tex had excelled himself with 1000s of songs. As they cruised down the highway, strangely enough different songs became so appropriate to the journey. It seemed as though the playlist knew what was coming up and found a unique song perfectly suited to that moment in time. They planned to reach Forbes for the night. Pips heated gloves worked brilliantly for the first 4 hours again, she decided she’d have to source some more powerful ones for them to last the longer travelling days. Soon the warmth of Australia’s north would kick in and Pip could enjoy the suns healing power from the pain until they had almost completed their round trip, reaching down the bottom of Western Australia in a couple of months. Tex had the convenience of heated hand grips up front, his hands would get so hot they’d start to burn and he’d have to switch them off. Typical BMW, standard feature with the Beemer 20 years ago, amazingly ahead of their time. They crossed the Mid-Western highway from Hay to West Wyalong. This highway is a bit of a short cut to West Wyalong and generally not as busy as the nearby major Newell Highway.

As the day’s journey progressed, the boring flat Hay Plains were left behind and the highway began weaving its way up through beautiful gently undulating hills and fluorescent green farm paddocks, mostly producing an assortment of crops, cattle and sheep. Ever changing patterns of chequered coloured paddocks stretched out for as far as the eye could see. The beautiful bright yellow canola crops were in blossom and stretched for miles, its sweet perfume wafting by and penetrating the nostrils every now and again. This is far more pleasurable than smelling the occasional fetid rotting animal carcass in a ditch. These deceased animals are usually taken out by night travelers, mainly truckies or the dawn and dusk motorists.

Being Baby Boomers, they enjoyed similar music listening to 60s and 70s music most of the time. Luke, the musician son had mixed a fabulous playlist of motorcycle and road-trip songs. How appropriate, Angel Flying Too Close to the Ground by wonderful Willie Nelson was an absolute favourite of Pip’s. She was pleasantly surprised to hear some new songs she hadn’t heard before. One memorable song called “Sometimes It Takes Balls to be a Woman.” Thrilled Pip. Is this a subliminal message, what is Luke trying to say here? Life was going to be pretty busy on the highways for the next couple of months. This trip was all about the journey, not the destination. Hell no, the destination was home, savor every minute of this unforgettable journey, zooming around an amazing country.

Tex slowed down to allow a family of emus plenty of time to dart across the highway ahead. A mum and dad emu standing almost 2 metres tall with 3 little chicks all legs. The emus made a game of it by turning around at right angles and striding out alongside them on the highway. It’s somewhat un-nerving because you can’t be sure if one may be stupid enough to dart out at the bike. These amazing huge flightless birds with their long lanky legs kept up an amazing pace for a short while.

The physiology of both emus and kangaroos restricts them from stepping or hopping backward. A motorcycling rule of thumb, should you have the misfortune of meeting one on the side of the highway, always ‘veer to the rear’ not the head. But obviously not into the path of obstacles or on-coming traffic.

Pip pressed the intercom button and asked Tex. “Do you remember learning in primary school, about the emu and kangaroo originally being selected for Australia’s Coat of Arms because they never took a step backward?” Tex replied. “Yes, Australia’s growth and future was supposed to adhere to this great symbolic ideal, ensuring we only move forward with the times. Did you know Wombats do square poo?” Pip was amused. “Fair dinkum?” She asked. “Yep, look it up on Google if you don’t believe me. Back to the music show.” Steppenwolf blasted on with Born to be Wild.

They noted 2 or 3 small towns on the Mid Western Highway in between Hay on the Murrumbidgee River and West Wyalong, in NSW. These tiny towns appeared almost deserted, only one town seemed to have a solitary fuel bowser selling basic regular unleaded and diesel. This was not suitable for Bertha, as she strictly drank top shelf stuff, high octane.

Pip recalled stopping there a year ago on Charlotte, their adorable Harley Davidson 1100 sporty for fuel. Tex had just recovered from his decade of illness, they took a motorcycling practice run, from Adelaide to Queensland, with the added benefit of visiting Lily, their daughter.

At the time it was doubtful that Charlotte’s small petrol tank would make the distance to West Wyalong. Charlotte only had a 17 litre fuel tank and was affectionately nicknamed the Bucking Bronco, as that’s what the ride upon her was all about. Charlotte was loud with oodles of grunt; she had a Screaming Eagle exhaust system. She snorted, rumbled and thundered her bucking way down the highways, attracting attention with her loud rebellious sound effects, unlike the smooth glide of Bertha, nicknamed the Thoroughbred. Being devotees of motorcycling, they had the best of both worlds, a wild bucking hot rod compared with the contrasting smooth highway glide of Bertha. Altogether they formed a perfect motorcycling family satisfying each other’s needs. Tex happily dreams on to increase the size of his iron horse stables.

This time, fortunately no need to stop and re-fuel. They zoomed straight through to West Wyalong. In fact, Bertha’s large fuel tank would prove to be an integral part of the journey, when crossing the far north and northwest coast of Australia. Bertha would be able to make the vast distances between fuel stops, where at times there is more than 450 kilometers in between. A smaller sized fuel tank would have to carry extra fuel on board in a couple of places.

Tex first purchased a BMW in the early 80s, a reliable R80/7 ex police bike. He soon had it repainted black, he was sick of scaring fellow bikers on his white police bike. Beemer Number two purchased in the late 80s was also an R80, the first brand spanking new bike Tex ever owned. Back in the day when Pip’s Sales Executive career was blossoming, and the garbos work offered stacks of overtime rates Tex never knocked any back. Their pocket money was flush in the 80’s. Bob Hawke was prime-minister, Australia was winning the America’s Cup and business was booming.

Tex reluctantly sold the R80 when the severity of his illness gave him no hope of riding again. (The depressive hiatus without an iron horse.) Pip used to try and uplift his spirits as he lay in bed, by suggesting when he gets better. they’d purchase another and be off around Oz. She tried to be convincing and positive of this dream, but deep-down Pip really wasn’t sure he would even live, let alone recover enough to fulfill their lifelong reverie. As she cared for her man, the song “Staying Alive.” Whirred through her mind constantly. Now, finally it was reality. But every day still seemed like a dream.

The next fuel stop was at West Wyalong. As Tex was beginning to fill the tank and Pip was removing her helmet to go in and pay, a piercing screech of brakes assaulted their ears, followed by the sickening sound of crushing car. Right out the front of the BP service station, an old farmer in a Ford chucked a Uee in the path of a new “You beaut 4 wheel drive rig towing a large caravan.” Resulting in the 4 wheel drive locking up and T- boning Farmer Ford. Thankfully no one was hurt, but a massive inconvenience in what should have been a five minute fuel stop. Tex and Pip were reminded of a previous memorable moment on the highway only twelve months prior, just out of West Wyalong on Charlotte.

Charlotte the Harley had black leather fringed travel luggage on the back with matching saddle bags including rear side pouches for the thermos of coffee. They hit a serious pothole in the road as they crossed a bridge just out of West Wyalong, shadows spread across the road from over hanging gum trees made the holes in the road virtually invisible till you hit one. Charlotte was air-borne, Pip’s tummy felt like it was left behind as they sailed through the air, Tex landed them safely, Pip was still gasping and catching her breath when a silver torpedo shape device went flying past above her right shoulder. Faster than a speeding bullet. Holy Crappoli, she thought, that’s my thermos of coffee, she reached up and caught it as they sailed along at about 110 kilometers per hour. Tex was completely oblivious to the magnificent catch behind him “Howzat”. Pip shouted out as she tapped Tex on the shoulder to show him her catch. Meanwhile, Tex was puzzled, he didn’t have a clue how she had the thermos in her hand. What a glorious catch. It all happened in what seemed like slow motion.

Was this the force of inertia at work? Catapulting the thermos forward upon hitting the massive bump. If only they had a go pro camera capture it. Nobody was ever going to believe this; Pip was certain she could have made money on her unique catch. Previously they had travelled vast distances with the thermos never moving from its tightly fitting pouch behind the luggage racks. Some pothole, it wasn’t until a day later Tex realized a chrome exhaust pipe cover must’ve flown off at the same time.

It’s probably still rusting in the creek bed on the side of the highway.