ride report
MMT's epic 6000km Uluru tourby Rolf, David P, Brett, Evan, Peter Ho, Tim L, Gary This ride report was originally published in the June 2011
issue of the Motorcycle Tourers club magazine, 'Chain Lube'.
Red Centre 2011 Ride reportby Rolf
So, the dust has settled on MMT's Red Centre 2011 ride, and most of us have now returned to our suburban/urban/rural mundanity. How best to describe our 13 days on the road for those who weren't there? A toughie. I think the following mis-quote from the adventures of the Roman empire summarises it best;
We rode.
We saw.
We conquered.
We, the Fearless 21, rode 5,920 kilometres (6,540 for those who did Kings Canyon) across the many and varied landscapes that lie between Melbourne and our continent's centre. We saw the unforgettable scenery along the way, often enhanced by dramatic weather conditions. We also saw a large group of friends enjoying themselves in some rather odd locations, and saw the many bemused expressions from innocent bystanders we encountered on the road. We conquered highways, byways and a number of memorable topographic features, but more importantly, I think we conquered a few personal trepidations along the way too.
The best part of the whole trip for me though, was hearing frequent comments along the lines of:
"That was much easier than I expected"
"Awesuuuuuuuum!"
"Why haven't I done this before?"
"This was never on my radar screen before but I'm so glad I did it"
"I'm coming back here" or
"It's great to be back here again after so long"
Seeing the long line of bikes strung out across the spectacular dusk scenery of the Flinders Ranges, or the undulating vastness of central South Australia, or howling past me while taking photos, or crowding the carpark at the base of The Climb up The Rock, were pretty reasonable second-best experiences too. Riding those roads and visiting those places alone is one experience, doing it with a large group of friends is quite another. Yep, it was a hoot!
From an organisers perspective, I'd like to thank all participants for being well-prepared and one of the lowest-maintenance groups I've ever travelled with. Collectively, we rode or drove over 115,000 kilometres without any issues, not so much as a flat tyre - not even one hissy fit! Many possibilities for pear-shaped outcomes lurked in my mind as we left Melbourne; breakdown; illness; accident; foul weather; wardrobe malfunction; accommodation cock-up; budgeting debacle; unfavourable winds; mutiny; scurvy; cannibalism; or any expression of the "are we there yet?" syndrome. Yikes! Was I going to be able to enjoy this?
Of course, I enjoyed it immensely. The group and the trip developed a personality and momentum of it's own, I was able to just be along for the ride. Thanks guys!! (yep, Dee and Kate, we missed you).
By the way, everyone should take a pat on the back for just making it along too. It was Roger of the Motel Poinsettia in Port Augusta who pointed it out to me: "It's unusual to see a group this size on the road. Most people just dream about what you're doing, but they never get around to actually doing it – too many other "priorities" intervene and reality bites them on the arse. When you booked the rooms I expected maybe half the group to actually turn up – but here you all are. Amazing!"
Indeed.
Day 1 – Melbourne to Halls Gapby Rolf
Monday 2nd May 2011 – "R" day, for Red Centre Ride. Unusually for me, I was fully packed the night before. Up, check the sky (gloomy wetness) then dressed in nothing flat, I even had time for some food before lane-splitting down the Hoddle Street Peak Hour Carpark to South Yarra by 9. Three bikes were there before me, confirming that I had, in fact, got the correct day. Phew! The last 72 hours had been a bit of a blur since arriving back in Australia from an epic ride across Patagonia (but that's another story).
More coffee and a relaxed chat with Moff, Christian and Adz ensued while we watched Tim H, Max W, Evan F, David P, Michael V, John H and Brett F roll up. Adz was day-riding as far as Halls Gap only. Just the Geelong group and the Goldfields-Halls Gap direct faction missing after Fab and Aaron arrived and, umm, parked. Eventually. I was relieved to see nobody had over-packed, in fact most bikes looked like they were just off on a weekend trip. Brett's Big Black Bag was maybe a little bulkier than usual – even after he left his curling wand at home – and both Evan's and Max's panniers stuck out alarmingly, but that was about it. Even Tim H had down-sized his suitcase. All very professional.
I walked over and gave Fab the 4 tie-downs I'd promised to bring along, because they were cluttering up my backpack. Otherwise I'd have handed them over that evening. Small things...
A short briefing in spitting rain where I bravely predicted clearing weather, and we were on our way by 9:40 to the second pick-up in Geelong. Just like that. A little anticlimactic really, despite my celebratory horn-honking as we merged onto the freeway. Windy across the Westgate, and already the group appeared to be spread over 5km of traffic. Sigh. Little did I know that Fab's GSXR had baulked at the Westgate approaches and left him on the side of the road in Southbank, flapping his arms to attract Aaron's attention. The blue Mazda/grey trailer combo would soon come to be known as the MMT Rolling Pit Crew (dial 1300 AHHH FARK), but the only requirement for those 4 tie-downs came less than 5 minutes into the trip. Who would have believed it!
Threatening black skies managed nothing worse than a sun-shower and most clouds had evaporated by Werribee. Pulling into the sunny Geelong BP we found Phil R, Tim L, Pete H and David W ready to go. A few phone calls confirmed that Fab's GSXR had been trailered to the shop in disgrace with recurring electrical problems, and that Fab was relegated to Car Driver for the rest of the trip. Eighty kilometres on the road and one bike down already, hmmm.
Making the most of the weekday-deserted, dry Great Ocean Road we did the full monty run through Torquay to Apollo Bay. Wonderful. Remind me to do that again soon. Refuelling allowed us time to re-group and head to the usual corner cafe for lunch where Fab and Aaron caught up with us. With only John M, Gary V, Mike K, Ross K and Michael R absent en route direct to Halls Gap, we were, if I say so myself, an impressive-looking group. Waiting for my panini to turn up, I was treated to the first Innocent Bystander encounter of the trip. Thirty-something dad in wife-beater, thongs and boardies greeted me like we were old mates. "You fellas off to the races?" was the casual question, no doubt intended to impress the slightly embarrassed 12-year old son. "Nope." I said. "We're going that way" pointing west along the beach. "Ayers Rock. What do you ride?" Kid goggles while Wife Beater savagely spears cheesecake. "Oh, ahh, umm, I used to have a bike" he mumbles. Kid smirks, bowled over by Biker Cred. I could see the newspaper headlines, "Boy Joins Gay Biker Gang After Dad Crashes And Burns". Ahh, its great to be kewl!
Listening to the seagulls squawk and waves thumping on the beach, Ayers Rock DID seem a tad remote. We idled away an hour and it was 2pm before we cruised off up to Lavers Hill and a turn-off down a road towards Simpson, which my map indicated might have a possible 4km of gravel. The gravel, or rather mud, started 100m past the turn-off cafe and continued for, ermm, 18 kilometres. Single lane, loose edges, black-footed wallabies, and oncoming logging trucks reminded us that yes, we were still in Victoria, Victoria. I slithered and clattered over the corrugations trying not to imagine what was being thought and said behind me . . .
Stunning country scenery made up for the road and nobody seemed to mind too much. What the hell, we were ON THE MOVE! Noticing how late it was getting, I turned up the pace a bit through Cobden to a re-group in Terang. Trusty tail-rider Tim H was less than 10 minutes behind so I kept the momentum going, up through Mortlake to fuel at Lake Bolac, the first of many one-pump bogan-in-a-ute towns we would experience.
With The Grampians humping up against the late afternoon sun, we headed north seeking a left turn to Willaura and the only sensible route to Halls Gap left to us by VicRoad's failure to re-open the main Dunkeld road. Landslide, phooey! I took a left turn in about the right spot, but somehow it didn't look like the map. We swung further and further south, then north, then south again, the mountains to our right, to our left, right again, but not really getting any closer. We should be in Moyston by now. I started picking random turn-offs that generally headed towards the setting sun, and increased speed to compensate for the unfathomable extra distance. Finally, I spied through the gathering gloom a blue car and grey trailer ahead. Could it be? Yep, Fab and Aaron, who had left Lake Bolac well behind us all, had obviously pulled some kind of hyper-dimensional overtaking stunt just to get in front.
Moysten finally and Halls Gap just minutes away. There was still light in the sky as we rumbled through town, Lead Rider Rolf frantically peering around through bug-splattered visor for some sign of the Pinnacle Holiday Lodge. Oh no, a U-turn on the main street, how embarrassing. But wait, there it was! And some familiar faces to wave us up the drive to our rooms among the trees. John M and Gary V were there, as well as Mike K in the white Fiat and Ross K plus Micheal R in the red mini-Rangie. Finally, after 485 eventful kilometres, the 21 Red Centre venturers (plus Adz) were united!
Halls Gap was quiet, at least until we all headed out looking for a meal. Even the Shell was closed by 6. With only a couple of places to choose from, most of us wound up in the same cafe/bistro. Which turned out to be just across the boardwalk from the only "early" opening cafe in town. Handy. A group of us wandered the gloomy main street looking for entertainment, finding very little apart from a group of teenage schoolkids with torches who were out koala-spotting. Or so they said. Pretty soon most of us had retired either to bed, or Moff's room where some red wine was said to be available. Just as well, big day tomorrow, 7:30 on the road!
Day 2 – Halls Gap VIC, to Wilmington SAby Rolf
One of the reasons Halls Gap was quiet, was that not only was the scenic highway from the south closed due to flood damage back in January, the scenic highway out to the north was still closed as well. Too bad if we ever get earthquakes or tsunamis in this country!
Early (7am) breakfast and a change of plan to head out through Stawell. John H volunteered as tail rider (something he would regret) and by 7:45 we had completely stressed out manageress Mimie and partner by all starting our bikes at this ungodly hour – they were happy to see us but even happier to see us off it seemed. Waving goodbye to Adz and heading east under clear blue skies, we soon plunged under a blanket of slowly lifting grey fog around Stawell. Joining the highway and heading for fuel in Dimboola via Horsham, Michael K managed to pick up the first (and only) Certificate of Achievement from the Victorian Police for hooning in the Fiat 500. Definitely a trophy booking!
Dimboola on a Tuesday morning had a certain country rhythm to it. James and Glenda Feery of Warner's Service Station sure weren't ready for sixteen $15 petrol sales. But Dimboola has a secret – it's famous for being the Australian distribution hub for Kriega riders backpacks and assorted touring gear. Ask David P or myself if you want to know what we think about the gear – we love ours.
Westward we droned, through Nhill, Bordertown and Keith to fuel at Tintinara, no space to stop at the "Welcome to South Australia" sign, so John H had to content himself with a shot of a rather scary Big Koala. After Tintinara the flat scrubby country began to change as we approached the mighty Murray at Tailem Bend. We passed above the ferry we crossed the river on when heading back from Kangaroo Island 14 months before, and sure enough, the river was brown and swollen, possibly even visibly flowing. Less impressive than I had hoped though.
Day-dreaming, I nearly missed the turn-off to Murray Bridge and David P performed an impressive stop-and-indicate corner marking save as I flapped my hand at him and peeled off to the right. We bumped across the old, original highway bridge across the Murray into, err, Murray Bridge, climbed the opposite bank into the centre of town, and were immediately confronted with a sign pointing right to Mannum. I had carefully memorised that name as the town we DIDN'T want to go to, so confidently headed straight on, even after Michael V's cheerful "as long as you know where you're going" comment at the traffic lights.
Several kilometres further on the town began to peter out and it was apparent even to me that in fact, I didn't know where I was going. Consulting the map I realised the Mannum road forked a few hundred metres north to head for Palmer and Mount Pleasant – our route. Never mind! A quick u-turn revealed the rest of the group scattered through a kilometre of traffic behind us. I pointed innocently back the way we'd come and got a confirmatory nod from tail rider John H. No problems!
The following hour through Palmer, Tungkillo, Mount Pleasant and Eden Valley was some of the most delightful riding I've done for a long time. The empty, undulating road wound up through stunning scenery over the back of the Adelaide Hills to Angaston, our next fuel stop. While part of the group went in search of a less dodgy service station (there was none) and a bakery (there was one), the rest of use realised that two bikes were missing, specifically, Moff and Tim H. Oops. While we milled around in confusion, the scouting party returned to fuel up. We gave up on our missing twosome, but as we departed for the bakery, surprise! Tim H and Moff arrived, somehow finding their way to somewhere they didn't even know they were going. It seems they had been isolated in traffic at the u-turn and the corner marker had departed before they arrived at the first turn. Hmm. Suggestions were made for mandatory re-groups as soon as possible after all u-turns. Good idea, but how often was that going to be needed anyway?
Just goes to prove that everything will sort itself out if you wait long enough. After wolfing down bakery products we headed north, into the heart of the Barossa Valley. This particular maze of haphazard roads has always confused me in the past, and today was to be no exception. It seems the road-builders had never imagined that anybody would NOT be heading to or from Adelaide. Add heavy traffic, endless roadworks and poor signage - you have a recipe for the inevitable. We got to Nuriootpa soon enough, then I turned right at a major new roundabout with signs not yet erected. Obviously the main road to Kapunda, except . . . it wasn't. We started dog-legging along palm-lined back-roads reminiscent of the Nile Valley, fascinating, but not what we needed. I followed a small white car for a while until it turned off down a dirt side-road, then fell back on my old trick of heading for the sun. Left, right, left, right, though somewhere called Seppeltsville and past the front gate of every major winery in Australia. Anybody who wants to re-trace that route, good luck!
Somehow, we arrived in Kapunda and paused for a map-read. Yep, straight ahead to Allendale North, left-right to Marrabel, left to Manoora, and right to Burra. What could go wrong? Just as I was moving off, Ross K and Michael R pulled up beside me and announced "the computer says turn right". If they'd said left, I might have fallen for it, but clearly, right was towards Broken Hill and NSW, no no NO! Straight ahead was north – and this time, I was right.
Noticing the sun was getting low again, I picked up the pace as we left the Barossa chaos behind. An exhilarating ride through impressive scenery followed as the traffic thinned and the country opened out into the awesome southern Flinders Ranges scenery. Abandoned stone cottages from failed 1850s farms dot the landscape which always impresses me with its scale and grandeur. Soon enough we arrived in the historic town of Burra, a brief pause to check the map and admire the throngs of lycra-clad mountain-bikers crowding the main street (4pm on a Tuesday?), and onward to Peterborough. Shadows were long, colours intense, and the road deserted. Speeds increased for a memorable blast northwards, arriving to fuel in Peterborough just on sunset. Moff took the opportunity to give the squirrel a congratulatory head-scratch, and we were on our way again.
Next heading west into the blazing red glow, we roared across impressive open, undulating country towards Orroroo. As the road twisted and turned, behind me I could see a line of headlights swinging through the mauve and grey backdrop like pearls on a string. The riders at the back of the pack had a similar view forwards but of red taillights winding towards the stark black backbone of the Flinders Ranges, silhouetted against the dusk glow. Undoubtedly, some of the most impressive visuals of the trip, and completely unplanned. Ah, it was good to be alive and on a bike!
Rural scents of cut hay, moist soil and wood smoke appeared as the still air cooled. We rumbled down the main street of Orroroo, glimpses of startled, staring locals frozen in our headlights outside the old stone pub. They probably heard us coming from 10 kilometres out and wondered, WTF? Leaving town heading ever west, the sunset glow still spectacular, I could see 3 bright white lights at the base of the silhouetted ranges in the general direction of Wilmington, which was over 50 km away. What could they be? As we rode westwards, the ranges rose higher and higher against the fading sunset glow but those lights didn't seem to come any closer. Velvety, inky black all around until suddenly we were there... floodlights in the road train assembly area on the outskirts of Wilmington. The clear dry air had made them look only a few hundred metres away all that time.
Seven pm, straight into the parking lot beside the old stone Wilmington Hotel at 1 Main North Road, familiar to me as a regular stop-over on my frequent Kalgoorlie –Brisbane commutes during the 90s. Still the same creaky wooden floor and big balcony overlooking the main street, but the place had been done over internally in a disappointing kind of flesh pink, with tasty olive-green carpets. Never mind. The facial expressions of the publican as she tried to work out how 21 guys would fit into 16 beds made up for the decor. Comment of the evening across the bar "when you said there was 5 couples, I didn't realise youse were all blokes!" She warmed to us quickly enough and got quite chatty later on, giving us the run-down on local goss and why she wasn't renewing the contract for the ATM in the lounge, among other tidbits.
We completely took over the top floor, before assembling downstairs for drinks, dinner, and in some cases, reflective moments outside in the deserted main street. The benefits of staying in country pubs of course, late check-in is always ok, and you can eat, drink, meet the locals, then stumble upstairs to bed without any complex logistics. Just what you want after a big day, 835km, arriving in a world that smelt, sounded and tasted different. We were on the cusp. Just 43 kilometres to Port Augusta in the morning, then turn right to Darwin...
Day 3 – Wilmington to Coober Pedyby David P
It was day three of our trip away to the Red Centre and we’d just spent the night in a magnificent old country pub in Wilmington, about 260k’s north of Adelaide. This grand old lady was staring to show her age, but none the less was still able to stand proud in the main street showing off her beauty from a by-gone era.
As the motley crew of motorcyclists stretched & yawned into position out the front for a quick photo opportunity, Rolf asked if anyone would be interested in leading the ride to Coober Pedy. Why not I thought, so I volunteered. There were only three corners to mark (That’s one more than Melbourne to Daylesford – Ooopp’s) so how could I stuff that up??? After a quick glance at the map and a few Madonna poses for the camera we were off. I also had the added responsibility of finding breakfast somewhere along the way as no-one in town could be bothered to get up at 7am to serve breakfast. Port Augusta was probably our best bet for a feed.
From Wilmington we headed west through Horrocks Pass, which was magnificent countryside and a fantastic stretch of windy road through the hills. This was really the only twisty bit on the whole trip other than our stint along the Great Ocean Road on day one. We dropped down the range into Port Augusta. A fuel stop was required and there was a Hungry Jacks next door to the servo, so it made sense to stop there for something to eat.
Keeping in mind that we had a few miles to chew through and didn’t have bucket loads of time if we wanted to have a look around Coober Pedy in daylight. Fast food breakfast dining provided a new experience for some MMT members. The soft ambient atmosphere provided by the bright pink neon lights above made the whole dinning experience somewhat surreal. Suck it up guys I thought to myself, as this would be our last taste of city culture for a while.
Once we departed Port Augusta we’d be heading out to outback South Australia, and our first taste of outback riding. We rode about 200k’s to a roadhouse near Woomera for fuel, then a short hop of about 100k’s to Glendambo for a top up. From Glendambo to Coober Pedy is the longest stretch of road without fuel, 256k’s. We had a roadhouse lunch at Glendambo and fortunately had a slight tail wind to help push us along and save fuel. Gary was the only one who was going to need a fuel top-up before we reached our destination and was fully independent carrying a small container of fuel. I decided we’d have a road side stop three quarters into the stint anyway for a leg stretch and this would give Gary an opportunity to top up.
We arrived in Coober Pedy mid afternoon and the novelty of staying in an underground motel (Back Packers) soon wore off once the realisation of the distinct lack of privacy became apparent (All part of the experience boys). I booked dinner at the local Greek restaurant which was highly recommended by my neighbours who had recently visited the area.
The troops broke off into small groups and began to explore the area. The presence of drunken indigenous locals kept us alert while we walked around town. We sat out in the motel car park amongst the bikes and enjoyed a few refreshments before heading off for a most enjoyable evening at the restaurant.
Day 4 - Coober Pedy to Yularaby Tim L
The day started with a quick breakfast at a Roadhouse in Coober Pedy, just a short distance from our accommodation. The ride, from Coober Pedy to Yulara is about 735 km’s as the crow flies. As we rode out of Coober Pedy, the opal capital of the world, we could see the vast number of opal mines, that riddle the landscape around the township. One could really appreciate the time and effort people have put into extracting the valuable stone over the years. The earlier form of mining was by digging a shaft with a pick and shovel. Driving or tunnelling along the level was then carried out with picks and shovels. When traces of opal are found a handpick or screwdriver is used.
Nowadays most if not all prospecting shafts are made by using a Calweld-type drill which are used to excavate holes about one metre in diameter using an auger bucket. The drills can dig to a maximum depth of about 28 to 30 metres and the opal fields are pitted with thousands of abandoned Calweld shafts.
Waste material or mullock, from the shafts and drives, was originally lifted to the surface by hand windlass, later being replaced by power winches (Yorke hoists) or automatic bucket tippers. Today truck-mounted blowers, which operate like vacuum cleaners, are more commonly used for bringing mullock to the surface and it’s this material dotted across the landscape we can see as we head up the Stuart Highway towards our first group refueling stop at Marla, 234 km away.
We traveled at a constant speed of between 130 and 140 km/h, moving from the mine fields into the outback landscape, which due to the recent wet weather was well populated with plants and remarkably green. A quick stop at Cadney Homestead gave Gary the opportunity
to put some more fuel in his scooter and for Christian to investigate an oil leak on his Moto Guzzi. The oil leak was later to be identified as coming from an oil seal, which would only leak if the revs were over 4000 rpm. It was also at Cadney Homestead that we saw our very first Road Train, albeit parked!
After refueling at Marla, we continued our journey north another 179 km’s to Kulgera, stopping on the way at the South Australia and Northern Territory border for a photo opportunity. We refueled at Kulgera and took the opportunity to get something to eat and take a few amusing photos around the petrol station. We continued north up the Stuart Highway, turning west onto Lasseter Highway, heading towards Mount Ebenezer and Yulara. Arriving at Mount Ebenezer, after traveling another 130 km’s, it was a relief to be able to refuel both the bike and oneself. Mount Ebenezer is an unusual stop, consisting of a shop, toilet and petrol pump. We had the pleasure of paying $2.20 per litre for petrol, which I believe was the most expensive petrol of the whole trip. The day was getting warmer and the flies were out in force. Everyone took the opportunity to buy something for lunch and eat it in the shade whilst watching other travelers come and go in their campervans or buses.
After a reasonable lunch break we mounted our steeds again and commenced our ride towards Yulara. The group needed to stop part way (after about 160 km’s) to allow Gary to refuel his scooter. Rolf thought the timing of the stop would coincide with our first glimpse of Uluru, so I was looking out for Uluru as we rode and also keeping an eye on the number of km’s we’d travelled so Gary didn’t run out of fuel. I was surprised to see Mt Conner on our left, jutting above the ridges and was almost tricked into thinking it was Uluru. Mt Conner, even from quite a distance is an impressive feature and gave me some idea of what Uluru would look like when we could finally see it. The odometer was reading over 160 km’s by now so I was getting a little anxious for Gary, thinking we’d better get a sighting of the rock soon and find somewhere suitable to stop. Luckily, the rock popped out from behind one of the ridges and it was surely a fantastic site to see. It looked HUGE even from a distance. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anywhere suitable for the group to stop that also had a reasonable view so we rode on a little further until we came across a wayside stop - which didn’t have a view of the rock! Anyway, Gary got to refuel and everyone got their first glimpse of the rock as we were riding - a very memorable experience!
We continued our journey towards Yulara (189 km’s) but didn’t stop there as we decided to continue on to purchase our Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park passes and have a quick look at Uluru before making our way back to the Yulara Resort where we were staying the next 4 nights. We purchased our passes, bikes costing $25 for a 3 day pass, and then made our way into the park, past the turnoff to Kata Tjuta (Olgas), which we will visit over the next few days, past the Cultural Centre onto the carpark at the base of Uluru. It was quite remarkable, standing at the base of Uluru after our long days ride. We wandered around looking at some of the information boards but we were all too tired really to do anything other than appreciate what a remarkable natural feature Uluru was and think of what fun we were going to have exploring the area over the next 3 days.
At this point it was getting late in the afternoon so we all jumped back onto our bikes and continued riding around Uluru and back out of the National Park to the Yulara Resort/Pioneer Hotel where we were staying. I think everyone was rather tired and happy to get our final destination for the day - it had been quite a long day’s ride but a very enjoyable one.
Day 5 - Uluruby Brett
What is it about a big old rock in the middle of this country that has the power to draw so many people to it? Is it the unusual way that it stands so high and proud amongst a somewhat flat desert landscape we expect of central Australia?
Whatever it is, I don’t think you will ever meet anyone who has been and experienced the magic of Uluru, who has left without an impression they will carry for the rest of their lives. There is a real energy you feel that you are in a special place.
Our day visiting The Rock was marked by mixed feelings. We started as a walk around the rock. With camera in hand, shooting every angle and detail, Fab, Arron and myself lost the rest of the group after the closest water hole. Not to worry, it’s a big circle, so we’ll meet up with them at some point. In fact, unbeknown to us, they actually headed in the opposite direction to that in which we headed. A few hours along the path, after exploring, and capturing every visual aspect of detail the rock could provide, we met up with the rest of the group. Thinking they were ahead of us, and had turned around, it was soon revealed they had in fact been walking in the opposite direction, and the way we had come was the last quarter back to the carpark. We decided it was a better option to head back with the group, and see if the gates which were closed for the climb earlier due to the wind increase had been re-opened.
Sure enough, access was again permitted, and streams of people were already making their way up the chain picketed rock face, so our contingent started preparations for our climb effort. Camera strap secure around my neck, I embarked on the climb at the foot of the rock to the first peg of the chain picket. Noticing the increase in the pace of my breathing, I began to wonder if I would even make it to the top. But being a determined, stubborn and even somewhat pig-headed type of person who hates being told that he failed, I persisted, just with frequent stops. It was however comforting when Rolf passed me to hear his heavy breathing also.
Finally making it to the top of the chain, I could have sworn I heard the rock laughing at me, as we discovered that we were only about a third of the way to the summit. Not to be beaten, I pushed on. The views were so rewarding as we made our way across the waving formation resembling a solidified ocean of rock. A few steep and slippery gullies near some rather scary drops over the edge convinced Michael K that enough was enough as his shoes failed to provide adequate grip over the scaled rock face. I could feel my heart racing as we arrived at the summit, part from my lack of fitness, but mostly from the thrill and excitement of making it all the way. I was slightly confused also, as I remembered seeing so many people climbing ahead of our group beginning, but we were almost alone when we reached our destination. Maybe they all fell off where Michael feared to tread?
A few celebratory group photos, and excited phone calls to family and loved ones were made before the first of the youthful school group rock climb challenge participants started arriving. Time to go, as the ambiance was about to be lost with adolescent chatter of gloating achievement.
As we commenced our descent, a realisation of my ever approaching mid-life where the same knee injury I was awarded from a couple of years ago as we were hiking around Dove Lake in Tasmania flared up again. The decision to make my was down the chain backwards paid off, and I reached terra firma of my own esteem without landing on my face!
I came, I saw, I conquered... I was a very happy man!
Click here to read Part 2 of our epic 6000km Uluru tour.
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Club News: 19 May 2013: John's ride proves disasters come in threes!
It started with a minor car bingle on the pre-ride and then went on to involve a puncture miles from anywhere and a holed radiator. In between however, we had lots of fun riding! {details}
14 Apr 2013: Cary goes for gold (and loses his ride leader virgnity!)
April's ride saw Cary take us for his first ride, which was from Rockbank to Daylesford by the most indirect (yet scenic) route imaginable... {details}
16 Feb 2013: And we're off! Hosko leads the tourers to the Snowies...
Hosko led a group of 26 bikes through the Black Spur and on to Jamieson, Eildon, Mansfield and Whitfield at the start of our eight day Snowies tour. {details}
3 Feb 2013: Pride 2013: Rob and Rolf show a little extra pride
We think MMT members Rob and Rolf may be the first ever people in Australia to be fined for riding without a helmet in a gay pride parade travelling at walking pace on a closed road... {details}
20 Jan 2013: MMT heads to Paradise Valley, ends up in Wilson's Prom instead
We packed for a camping weekend in Paradise Valley near Heyfield, but then a bushfire caused a slight change of plans. A baptism of fire (haha) for new ride leader Craig... {details}
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