oFF CENTRE RUN SToRY

Kindly sent to the BMWMCQ by Lyn Dyne after printing in the BMWMOC Gold Coast Newletter - a perfect story to align with Dakar.

By Kevin Devine. Photos Rob Wynne, Member #585 ‘Off Centre Run - Mt Dare Homestead’

The story of 3 of our members and their 3 mates in 1994 -

It was 3.30am on Friday, 5th August when a group of six intrepid souls with overloaded machinery underneath them ventured out from Kevin’s place to commence a great adventure which would take them across some of the most inhospitable areas in this country. Months of preparation and planning had gone into this trip by the ‘Boys’ and now the time had come. The group consisted of Rob Wynne R100GS, Kevin Devine R100GSPD, Wayne Roberts R100GSPD, Graham Watt R80, Peter Malouf (Lenny) R100/7 and Peter Day R100GS.

First stop, Toowoomba where it was freezing. Hot coffee was ordered and a chance to thaw out before pushing on to Dalby for breakfast. Headed off towards Moonie and St.George ending the day at Cunnamulla at a pub where we took advantage of bed and breakfast for $12. The road between Dalby and Cunnamulla was so straight and boring we decided to traverse the table drain to break the monotony. Saturday morning headed off in the direction of Thargomindah. On the way Lenny hit a roo taking off his blinker and bending the oil cooler. After assessing the damage and moving on it was not long before another incident occurred. Rob hit an eagle which was unfortunate to be too slow on takeoff from the ground but if that wasn’t enough, Graham also hit the poor bird. We eventually pulled into Thargomindah for a couple of beers to quench the thirst. Rob promised to show us the thermal bores but missed the turn. From Thargomindah the bitumen narrowed down to one lane so we did most of our riding on the side of the roadway. As boys will be boys, we held speedway races on the clay pan for a bit of fun.

Clay pan speedway

We thereupon sped on to Noccundra which was a detour from the main route to visit the pub for a coldie. The pub is the only building in sight and in the old days travellers would sign their names on the walls, doors and anywhere there was space. Unfortunately the adorned walls etc. have since been painted over and consequently some authentic history has been lost forever. (If only the walls could talk, what tales they could tell). Headed off onto the main track which took us through Jackson oil fields and where the oil pumps can still be seen along the roadside. It was at this point that we kissed the bitumen goodbye. We set up camp for the night about 50kms after leaving the tar at sundown under a tree. It is to be noted here that certain rules were laid down for the trip. A $1 fine was imposed each time a bike was dropped. Confessions were held every morning and for those caught out, the fine was $5.

End of the bitumen

Sunday, away early with Graham heading off first followed by Rob. Kevin and Peter were travelling at 90 km/h when Kevin and his bike parted company. $600 worth of bits were lost in the process. In the meantime, Rob was waiting near a huge bulldust hole hoping to catch some action on film when the others caught up whilst Graham, not aware of the drama, waited one and a half hours 30 kms up the road.

Kevin’s bike repairs

On route to Coopers Creek we saw the message at “Dig Tree” turnoff left by Dick Barrington and the NSW boys. Moved on to Innamincka via Coopers Creek where there is now a huge new bridge. Crossed into South Australia and had some fun on one of the small dunes. At Innamincka we met up with the NSW boys and the Swiss who came out to this country every second year for the OCR challenge wherever it may be. We all went out to the cairn whilst it was still light to partake of a few hot beers - (a long standing tradition only those who travel this route would understand).

Bulldust hole

Must mention also at this point that the NSW boys failed in their fishing efforts at Coopers Creek.

Monday, for a bit of fun, eight brave souls decided to ride on Lenny’s bike. Bodies fell off everywhere. Took Walkers Crossing route, a short cut to Birdsville, picking up the Birdsville Track 120 kms south of Birdsville. A good route for the dirt boys but you have to have guts to do it. The Ranger had told us that the road was closed because someone had shot the farmer’s cows but we went that way regardless. 40 kms out of Innamincka Wayne had his first puncture. Later on the same day he had another. This was a very rough track and very sandy. The top end of Walkers Crossing is like being on the moon surface. This is part of Sturts Stony Desert - aptly named. Onto the Birdsville Track and 100 kms later arrived at the Birdsville Hotel where we informed by a police officer that Dick Barrington had fallen off Richard Green’s R65. Apparently the bike had a padded landing on Dick’s spleen. Our enquiries revealed that Dick had been taken off to the Longreach Hospital.

Dump that tyre and put the knobbies on

Going back four years, on the 7th July 1990, Lennie Pascoe (NSW Club), Trevor Dean and myself headed west on a six week trip to Mt Augustus in far off Western Australia. We had planned a different route through the Simpson Desert over what is called the “French Line”. Having been harassed by the police officer at Birdsville for trying this crossing, we were informed that if we failed, no rescue would be available and a spell in the cells would be guaranteed. Without adequate background information and not being properly prepared, we were in trouble at the first dune. 50 litres of petrol, 12 litres of water, too much gear and the wrong tyres led to our defeat after only 4-5 dunes into the desert. After some soul searching, it was decided a tactical withdrawal was necessary. There is no more bitter pill to swallow than defeat, so like General Macarthur we returned for another attempt.

Day 1

The last supper was held at the Birdsville Pub, ‘one stubbie and a pie thanks’ and we were ready to go. With a tyre change, servicing, refuel and drums of water on board, we are now ready to make an assault on the desert (Big Red). A few goodbyes were passed around to some of the Queensland Club members and a short chat to my friend Herbie from the NSW Club who was in a four-wheel drive, telling him that if we didn’t make it to Mt Dare on Sunday, to come and get us - we would be in big trouble by then. “No worries mate” he replied sucking on his twentieth tin of green death.

The 30 kms down to the first dune was lousy to say the least. Over-loaded and a full knobby on the back left me with the feeling that every weld on my bike had been made of chewing gum. Similar comments were heard from everyone else. “Well boys, I said, “we can stand here all day and bullshit but the truth of the matter is the bullshit stops here, let’s do it”. Everyone being full of enthusiasm, we charged at the first dune but no one made it over. We were all bogged very close to the top but with a short push, we were all over the top and away.

The first 150 kms west to the NT border, Poepples Corner to be exact, produced the largest dunes we were to encounter. Each dune was separated by a long flat of approximately half a kilometre which reminded us of waves in

the ocean, spaced out. These flats were our only chance for a rest. Then the tactics were simple. Get into second gear as fast as possible, stand up on the pegs and lean back but not too fast, (the sand and the roughness of the flats dictating the pace), then as one approached the dune itself, about half throttle was the go and as the bike slowed, give it the lot on the way up. All too easy I thought for a while but then the trouble started. Riding on a virgin four-wheel drive track seemed to be the best way to go. With a reshuffle of bikes at the top of one dune, I soon realised just how difficult this sand was. When two bikes had gone up the same track in front, the surface was left like powder then life really became hell. We all suffered many drops and the sweat ran like a river from our bodies.

I had been riding up front with Lenny. He would sit in the left lane from Birdsville to Purnie Bore which is the end of the sand. He was thereafter aptly named ‘Left Lane Lenny’.

Eyre Creek

Around 5 pm we came to a place called Eyre Creek which was about three and a half metres deep with steep banks of pure bulldust. Once this was negotiated an evening camp was contemplated but it was decided to do another half an hour and find a spot with more wood. At this stage the boys were reluctant to confess to a fall so as not to impose a $5 fine. It was a novelty at first to cover up but eventually the truth emerged. Rob’s fingers were running hot on the electronic organiser and the cash was collected for drinks at the Mt Dare Pub.

At this stage we were all a little in awe at the beauty and size of the desert. I personally found it most relaxing. It is somewhere I have wanted to be for a very long time and now finally we were here to savour the moment. After sweating profusely all day and then the temperature dropping to a chilly -4°C overnight, a quick change of clothes was the order of the day. Over a can of stew that evening someone made the comment that if it is this easy, it will be disappointing. No one was to be disappointed. The rum bottle was passed around the camp fire and the odd yarn was to be heard about days gone by when a cat walked between Rob’s legs and continued on right up to the fire. It left us with the impression that it was blind because it made no attempt to run away.

Day 2

We were all on our feet by 6am. It was freezing cold and yet there was no moisture to be seen on the bike seats or any-where else for that matter. At this point we all took the opportunity to move 5 litres of fuel up front to the main tanks. With everything packed up and ready to go, ‘Left Lane Lenny’ gave us all the laugh of the day when he came out of the bushes with a cardboard winged keel strapped to his back with the words: ‘BMW Winged Keel Stabiliser’ written on the side.

Lenny’s BMW Winged Keel Stabiliser

A note of caution was passed around at the amount of fuel consumed after travelling only about 60 kms. At this point it was decided that everyone would keep 5 litres in reserve in case we did not have enough. This way, the last 30 litres could be placed in two bikes (15 litres each) and they could be sent ahead to get more supplies and fuel. Heading west across the desert, the righthand side of the track had yellow pegs at 5 km intervals, which are spaced according to the lay of the land. In other words, actual distance travelled. On the left side there was a set of geo-detic fixes at 5 km intervals measuring the distance as the crow flies. Therefore because we were travelling up and down the dunes, the distance would be more like 6 to 6½ km instead of the 5 km as marked. The day was long and arduous. Some of the dunes were really large and up to 18 metres high. This did not necessarily present a problem, if we could get a straight run at it, success was guaranteed.

Unfortunately Murphy’s Law made it a bit more difficult. Throwing in a dog’s leg half way up would ultimately see a couple of us down and out. This of course meant that a push over the top was required by two of your best friends. Exhaustion was taking its toll. The leading two riders, one in each wheel track, would go as far as they physically could, usually no more than two to three dunes and then stop just over the crest leaving enough room for the next two desperates to park once they made it up. In this manner, anyone falling off required those up ahead to walk back from the dune where they were parked to give a push. Because of the sandy conditions there was no way in which the leading bikes or any bikes for that matter, could turn around.

Lake Thomas

About 100 kms our, some long flats were encountered being in fact large salt lakes. At one of these (Lake Thomas according to the map), Wayne managed to get a flat front tyre. Later on in the afternoon we crossed a fairly large lake only

to find a dead stop ahead and the track turning 90 degrees to the south. This point was the NT border. The next 20 km section was paradise. For some unknown reason the road down to Poeppel’s Corner is clay running alongside a large lake full of salt. This prompted some doughnuts to be executed - a mistake we decided that night as it was a waste of precious fuel.

Poeppel’s Corner here somewhere

20 kms south, a sharp turn to the west meant that Poeppel’s Corner was here somewhere. Three months later and we are all still looking for the corner peg. Apparently there is an emergency radio at the Corner. After the turn west the going became horrendous. The dunes were now small but close together so there was no chance of a run- up in between, nothing but soft sand.

And again

After covering only 5 kms everyone was exhausted so a camp was established on a long flat to our north. First strip off the wet clothes, climb into some dry gear then into the muesli bars for energy. Rob then enquired as to whether I was going to fix my front flat. I didn’t dare look. Having travelled in the soft sand, I was not aware of the flat. It is times like this that you know you are having an adventure but at times you wish you were home in bed.

Day 3

Sleep was a commodity in abundance; just lie down and it was all over. During the night the dingoes had visited our camp and made off with Lennie’s boots. They were easily found but somewhat chewed. Not five minutes out of camp that morning and I was in trouble. I could not, for the life of me, get the bike straight. I was later to discover that the end-o at Jackson earlier in the trip had bent the piston off my front brake and any attempt to use it left the piston depressed (brake on). Not the best in sand when this problem occurs. The rules were simple - don’t go anywhere near the front brakes. 131 kms was all we could achieve this day which was probably the hardest I have ever experienced. We passed Knolls Track about 35 kms out of camp which was heartening because we could get some idea of

where we were on the map. Another 38 kms of hell saw us at the Ebaneeze Track turnoff to the south. These tracks are quite inviting because they are all clayed over and seem to be the easy way out, but not for us. Another 53 kms put us at the Colson Track and all agree to declare for the day. Throwing my swag on the ground and falling down half dead, I start on a packet of dried fruit and nuts. Looking around surprised by the silence, I notice everyone is doing the same, exhausted bodies with sore arms, legs and stomach muscles.

Day 4

The bikes were losing weight faster than any Jenny Craig Diet, not to mention the riders. Fuel and water were disappearing fast but the bikes felt just as heavy due to our exhaustion. We were getting no more than 8 kms to the litre and it was obvious that we did not have enough fuel to get through to Mt Dare. The battle continued all day with no let up with 68 kms being all that we could manage when suddenly down a dune we went, to arrive at a long flat area, Purnie Bore. The mere sight of this running pool had us all stripped off and into the water in a matter of minutes. Whilst up to our necks in bore water, Peter declared he would go into Mt Dare 150 kms for fuel and food so we all nominated Graham to go with him. All Graham could say was ‘mmm’ (a man of very few words).

Purnie Bore

Later that evening Peter and Graham were loaded and sent off on what was thought to be a 300 km round trip to Mt Dare. The excess fuel was left behind just in case it was a long wait for the rest of us. We then decided to eat and a smorgasbord of tinned grub was thrown into the pot. That was probably the worst feed I have ever had. Settling down for the night it was decided to finish the remaining half bottle of OP.

Around 8.30 pm with merely a mouthful of rum left, the sound of a motor vehicle pierced the silence. Many blinding spotlights later a four-wheel drive door opened and a voice said: “Would you like a beer?” At first I thought this was a visitation from God. It turned out to be Peter and Graham. They

had travelled the 60 kms west to Dalhousie Springs and just by chance found Herbie and the four-wheel drive crew. What a stroke of luck. Later the fourwheel drive returned to Dalhousie Springs and we would join them in the morning around 10 am. The road to Dalhousie Springs was a mixture of potholes, bulldust, hard clay and corrugations. Some of the four-wheel driver’s we met in the desert all said it was horrendous but after three days in deep sand, it was a bit better than the freeway.

The Final Chapter

The first point of interest on the road to Mt Dare was an Emergency Radio standing on a pole at the side of the road. A few photographs were taken, then off to Dalhousie Springs. This was an interesting place. When we arrived all the NSW crew were there and their Swiss Connection. They were just about to leave on a guided tour with the local Ranger so it was off with the helmets and away we went. It is truly amazing just how much water is in this great artesian basin.

Filling up the waterbottles at Dalhousie Springs

The ride to Mt Dare was uneventful, the track being flat and stony and it was accomplished without any drama. Mt Dare is nothing more than a cattle station-come service station-come pub. Nevertheless the beer was cold and who cares where it is. The next day and a half were something of a blur. I spent all my time in the pub on the first day only to repeat the exercise the second day. Oh well, the only things to suffer from this were my wallet and my head. Beer: $3.50 a can or at the bargain price of $65.00 per slab! (in 1994!).

Mt Dare Pub

Having said our goodbyes to all our friends from all over Australia, it was time to be off in the general direction of Alice Springs. A wide open dirt road prompted a turn of speed. 140 to 160 km/hr was the order of the day. This lasted for about five minutes as a dozen station horses decided they liked the grass on the other side of the road and a speeding motorcycle was not going to deter them. 80 km/hr seemed appropriate for the rest of the ride to Finke. Finke can be left on the bottom of one’s list of places to see. Like all missions, it was filthy dirty and derelict. It was here that the party decided to split up with Rob and Peter making a beeline for Alice. Actually we were not to part company for another 200 kms until Rodinga, an old railway station on the Ghan, whilst Graham, Lenny, Wayne and myself would head for Chambers Pillar.

Finke River Road

Leaving the petrol bowser at Finke, I thought the challenge of this trip was now over. Think again. Not half a kilometre out and straight into the Finke River bed and muffler deep sand.

This road is in fact the old Ghan Railway Line and the annual Finke Desert Race is run along this road. Need I say more as to its condition. Arriving at the ruins of Rodinga, I noticed Wayne and Rob standing on top of a large water tower taking photographs.

At this point Rob and Peter headed north and the rest of us turned west for Chambers Pillar, the road being just another mini desert all the way out except for a large jump-up which gave us spectacular views of Chambers Pillar itself. Camp was set up just on dusk at the Pillar and the cans were being consumed at a great rate of knots (salvaged from the four-wheel drive at Mt Dare). Next day camp was broken early and then an inspection of the Pillar was carried out. The scenery from the top was breathtaking to say the least. There are a number of names carved into the rocks, one being the explorer Charles Sturt dated circa 1800. The run to Alice Springs was uneventful. Here we joined Rob and Peter together with the NSW boys and the North Queensland members.

A welcome shower and change and out to downtown Alice for dinner. Later we returned to the caravan park for a few quiet ones and nice warm firs. The following morning it was time to point our wheels eastward. The remainder of the trip home, well, that’s another story.

It is to be noted that there was not a single mechanical problem. Six bikes - 48,000 kms in total. It doesn’t get much tougher than this trip. A good recommendation for the Boxer - SHEER RIDING PLEASURE