31 minute read
iN CAPE ABlE
By Duncan Bennett, Member #4171
We’d long talked about doing the ride to the top of Cape York before we were too old. Unfortunately we missed that window, but fortunately didn’t realise it. So how do these things come to pass? The Women’s Adventure Riders Australia (WARA) group must be held fully accountable, Cindy has ridden with them and follows their social media enabling exploits enthusiastically. As we’d ridden as far south as one can on the mainland and stood in the Australia’s most southerly car parking space at Cockle Creek in Tasmania in March 2021, the theme naturally continued, and Cindy started talking about doing a Cairns to the Cape tour as I said “hmmm” while totally distracted by a very funny post on Snapchat.
The 1350km Cape Crusade
Next thing I knew we were booked on a Cairns to Cape York Tour for the end of July with Ellwood Motorcycle Adventures. It was April. Possibly still time to get ready. First thing on Cindy’s agenda was to buy an appropriate training bike, a Yamaha XT250, while I tried the latest middle-old bloke trend of getting fit by consuming servo dimsims and German Club beers for a month before deciding that running and stretching were more likely to succeed. The prep program was proceeding smoothly (some were likening my abs to a mahogany washboard hidden under a mattress) through May and June. A Dirt Dayz session up in the D’Aguilar National Park in May demonstrated beyond reasonable doubt that reasonable doubt existed about our abilities; it was noted by our Dirt Dayz trainer Warren Dennis, ex enduro guru of Cairns, that the dry and rocky conditions of the D’Aguilar were as similar to the Cape and its rivers as Milan Fashion Week is to a western suburbs op-shop bargains rack. No worries though, until Cindy suggested a final training run two weeks before the trip. Our Golden Rule since before the Cairo to Cape Town has been to eschew any risky activities in the eight weeks before a big riding commitment; enough time for minor injuries to heal. Two weeks isn’t enough time unfortunately, and the X-Ray confirmed the need to call Ellyse, the Ell of Ellwood.
Bribie Island sand training run. Damage to the photographer after a minor off inset.
Initially it looked as though the earliest possible alternative tour was several lockeddown lifetimes away in August 2022, a finding that brought on explosive Temporary Tourette’s Syndrome. Damn you, riding incompetence. But enter Covid to the rescue for us, non-Queenslanders were held at bay and we were able to reschedule to a month later. The end of August. Very mild exercise was resumed after 3 weeks without risk of compromising the thickness of the mattress. Age shall weary them, and the beers condemn. A side note on trail bike riding versus adventure riding here. Ellwood had sent through a packing list which was great, but our wellused adventure riding stuff is better designed for storing lip balm and keeping out rain than looking Motocross cool. We needed to adjust wardrobe. Perhaps not strangely, MX stuff is designed for MX; short and sharp bursts around a track with riders five feet in front throwing rocks and clods of mud
– don’t need lip balm, iPhone or to worry about rain during that. So pockets? Nil. Where on earth do they keep their pills, tucked up their sleeve wrapped in a hankie? Some have suggested cool MX people don’t carry a hankie or even pills but we refused to believe that. So we bought Klim MX pants which have pockets, luckily we had a voucher.
Carting stuff at the last minute to get fit
Lobbing into Cairns carting helmets, backpacks, and bags stuffed with the packing list items like we were Cuban mules, we staggered into the hotel. A trip over to Hemingway’s Brewery where concerned staff offer caution about drinking 6% alcohol beers while dishing up bottles of heavy Shiraz, dinner, and back completed the pre-riding period. Nerves were now building which weighed very heavily on the sleep quality. Up pre-sunrise, we breakfasted and then adorned ourselves with the MX gear. Being mistaken for the Red Wiggle in the lift by a small child confirmed just how subtle MX colours are, but at least the main bags were now significantly lighter. Swings and roundabouts though; the backpacks were significantly heavier with 3 litres of water added to the Camelbaks. Out to Ellwood, Ellyse was there to meet us and guide us down to meet the leaders: 1. Ellyse, Ellwood co-owner and photographer. 2. Woody, Ellwood co-owner and ride leader. 3. Matthew a.k.a Squid, Ellwood ride guide. 4. Brendan a.k.a Cuzzo, Ellwood support vehicle driver.
And the punters: 5. Cindy, a.k.a. Mindy (to avoid confusion with Cindy), gym business owner. 6. Billy, a.k.a. Billy Redacted in case his employees read this, crash repair shop business owner.
7. Michael, a.k.a. “Come On!”, mobility equipment business, we suspected we might need his product at some stage. 8. Hannah, a.k.a. Han, whose motorcycle shop is tragically just over the border in NSW. Thankfully the bubble has returned. 9. Shelby, a.k.a. Shelb, Mackay coal miner, brought own Husqvarna 250 along. 10. Cindy, a.k.a. Legal Spouse. 11. Duncan, a.k.a. Getting Too Old for This S#!t. Apart from Shelby, we were all on Suzuki DRZ 400’s, especially fitted out for the conditions with long-range fuel tanks, Barkbusters, and carburettors easy to get river water out of. Each bike bore our name which appeared to be just a nice touch, but one yellow peril looks almost exactly the same as the next so was a good idea unless we wanted to descend into confusion about whose bike was whose before we’d even left. Woody presented a spares price list which was a bit of a wake-up; smashing up the bikes was gunna cost us – fair enough, although admittedly one normally
doesn’t deliberately cartwheel a conveyance down a rocky road. Soon we were off – it had all happened very quickly. Onto the bitumen to climb up out of Cairns, a brief stop at a lookout to adjust things, and into the Kuranda tracks. A notable thing was that Ellwood never asked about our riding experience, unlike Olympic Games rhythmic gymnastics judges they aren’t into subtlety and are mainly just watching to see if you can stay on your apparatus. Into muddy single tracks with ruts and humps, more mature persons were being passed by younger and fitter types, before we saw some corner markers and hooned around. Massive grab of brakes caused by a bottomless mud bog right in front.
The Assessment Bog
Going directly through the Assessment Bog was not an option for a group without a trailing laundry service, and a side rut up through the bush presented itself as far less likely to result in death, or worse, embarrassment. Woody offered up the ultimate challenge of a 2-foot-wide flat section along the side of the Bog with a steep step up after a 90° turn onto a better track, but no-one was falling for or into that. So with a bit of wild revving and grunting and pushing, up the rut we all went. The Assessment Bog finished, the track improved before hitting the top of the range behind Kuranda. We drifted down into Mossman via the nowfamous Bump Track (famous now because we’ve ridden it) with some reasonable air achieved over some of the bumps and completed the morning at Wonga Beach with a ham and cheese toasted sandwich. After re-fuel and lunch, the brave/insane went through the Daintree via the infamous Creb Track, but we’d seen the footage from the week before and decided dying or suffering terminal embarrassment on the first day was not ideal; Cape Tribulation and the Bloomfield Track for us led by Squid. Exactly zero regrets from this decision, the scenery and the riding were first class and the traffic was almost non-existent.
Cindy forgets all about technique at the first creek crossing
Eventually to the Bloomfield River, a stop at a lookout had us getting out the binoculars to make guesses about the size of the crocodile on the opposite bank, between 3 and 4 metres was the consensus estimate. Then onto Rossville and an effort was made to locate the road to a tin mine I was involved with some 15 years previously, Squid became the follower while I charged up a steep and rocky and narrowing track before deciding that I was on the wrong road. This area is famous for agriculture, but not the sort that you see on those television ads with happy farmers and their kids towing a trailer load of organic produce behind their old Massey Ferguson. The road we were on was, we later found out, known as The Green Mile. A fairly new white SUV parked by the side of the track with a bit of foliage stacked around it and no number plates and Squid had seen enough. I’m not sure there is a Ride Leader’s code that requires them to stand between their followers and imminent danger, but if there is Squid either wasn’t aware of it or decided that I’d taken over as Leader so was on my own. We didn’t see Squid again until back at the bitumen, he can ride very, very fast. Into the Lion’s Den and Brendon was there with our bags laid out, the keys to our room,
and a cold beer offering from the fully iced-up esky.
Survivor: The Green Mile
The Lion’s Den Hotel is chosen as the first night for various reasons, a normal bed, and the opportunity for people who’ve only just met to get to know one another over a few drinks and a nice dinner – harder to do in a camping situation. There was a rash of birthdays on our tour, but the focus was on Ellyse whose actual birthday was that day. She and Woody and the other Ellwood leaders don’t drink on tour. Except for this night; by the time we were heading to bed lots of shots had been shot and the crowd was winding down from raucous. Day 2 started slowly, high performance individuals like Ellyse (who has been the fastest woman in the Finke Desert Race) are usually less practiced at getting up with an overhang than we middle-to-upper-aged casual riders. A lot of pride that we can actually be way better at something there. First stop was at the amazing Black Mountain, geologists collapse with excitement at the lookout due to the absolute clarity of genesis – a volcanic intrusion has been exposed and has weathered to an amazing pile of huge boulders, turned black with algae and lichens. Then a demonstration of why it is good to travel with people who know stuff – Trevethan Falls and Archer Point south of Cooktown were great scenic stop-offs, and then Grassy Hill in Cooktown itself to stand where Captain Cook did in 1770. He was interested in trying to find a passage through the reefs for when his ship was repaired so was looking north-east, whereas we were more interested in the rugged terrain to the north-west.
The “Something About Mary” hairstyle in full splendour at Archer Point
Back tracks to Hope Vale where some unnamed individual may have gone the wrong way around a round-about, and onto Battle Camp Road which heads due west toward Laura. This track gets its name from an 1870’s massed attack by Aboriginals on miners and police heading to the Palmer River goldfields, and it crosses over the Isabella Creek which provided a very pleasant lunch stop venue.
Billy dropping the kids off at Old Laura Homestead
Pushing on we crossed the Normanby River before heading off the road up to Horseshoe Lagoon. This is a pleasant spot but the scenery didn’t appear to be the most important thing – this was our Assessment Sand. After the Bribie Island incident in July, I was very much more switched on to riding sand and had come up with a new sand riding motto; You Can Always Recover! This had started in Namibia in 2017, where even with the bike nearly horizontal and seemingly out of control a bit of throttle burst and weight adjustment would cause any observing religious types to claim a miracle – the bike will usually just straighten up and fly right. But seeing Ellyse set up with a camera on the deepest bit resulted in passing the first amendment to the sand riding motto; Unless You Have Performance Anxiety! With all sand riding fundamentals cleared from memory, the throttle burst came too late and into the trees I went, the weight adjustment just saving a timber collision but the loss of speed meant once back on the track the bike bogged down and I stepped off, about 1 metre away from the still rolling GoPro. Crash No.1, I was on the board. That embarrassing event over, we moved onto the Old Laura Station which was complete with historical description boards and bats up in the second floor rooms. The last part of the day was a quick burst up to Kalpowar crossing on the Normanby River. This was our first camping night, so lots of new words were used during putting up of tents, inflation of mattresses, and hanging up all moist but still miraculously clean riding clothes in the laundry tree. The beers were dispensed under an honour system, just marked on a sheet of paper for final accounting at the end, and it was a real trip pleasure to always have very cold ones available immediately on arrival.
Hannah and Shelby showing off their Cape tracks facials
Camping on the banks of the Normanby River naturally started some discussion about crocodiles, so we wandered down to the crossing and loitered about, always ensuring there was someone a bit distracted by their iPhone between us and the water. A large crocodile was spotted swimming over the other side, but by the time Ellyse had launched the drone and I had the binoculars in play it had disappeared. Dinner was wonderful, rissoles and salad making up a top burger, and once it was dark we went down to the river again expecting to see millions of reflecting crocodile eyes, but surprisingly nothing.
Day 3 was Princess Charlotte Bay day, and the first go at developing the packing up of the camp routine. The alarm would go off at 6am, somehow we would get off the mattress and get out the tent door with enough clothing on to avoid offending, and start the day with tea and breakfast around the fire. By 7am the deconstruction was well in play with fly off, stuff out of tents, mad searches for the tent, poles, and pegs bags – I swear I put them under the laundry tree – no I didn’t, that wasted 10 minutes and now I have a headache – personal gear back in bag and zipped up, unzipped because I forgot to clean my teeth, where on earth is my toiletries bag – oh I left it over there because I knew I’d want to clean my teeth – wanting to snap at people now except no-one nearby. Last thing is into the riding gear as this gets hot very quickly, then over to the support vehicle to draw snack rations and get at least 2.5 litres of water into the Camelbak. Then clean the dust off the visor and attend the briefing before the 8am start.
Kamp Kalpowar with laundry tree
Day 3 was probably my favourite, but it was interesting that certain tracks and days over the journey just became a confused jumble. We started off heading up on open savannah land single tracks at a fair speed to the Hann River crossing where we rejoined the main Lakefield Road. This was a fast road with 100kmh cruising, at least until we got stuck behind a road train through road works. A turn onto the Violet Vale Station Road and a big advantage of being with Ellwood became clear – these areas are owned and need permission to cross.
We pushed on up the good road to Princess Charlotte Bay. Extra special permission had been gained by Woody to allow us to go through to the beach, I thought I heard Squid say it was maybe 2km total riding.
Corner marking a spot near Hann River crossing with magnetic termite mound
The track was quite good until just before the beach, and as we’d maybe done 1.8km I thought the section of bottomless sand getting onto the beach would just see us through to a nice shady spot under a foreshore tree for a quiet relax. Wrong, we were heading down the beach through long patches of bottomless sand and rare sections of grassy and still sandy but more rideable stuff. Ellyse was inevitably stopped with GoPro at the worst section, seemingly willing us to crash spectacularly enough to break Ellwood view records. Wasn’t falling for that again but regardless was stuck in first gear so couldn’t get going fast enough to crash. Then the learning – forget first gear, start in second and give it the berries. Much more pleasant riding but still no sign of an end, the desire to stop in the rising heat and empty the Camelbak into the desert-dry mouth was intense. Eventually after 5km Woody had stopped – we were on the edge of a National Park so could go no further. No fully sealed tracks appeared unfortunately, we were going to have to ride all the way back again. Camelbak level down a long way after sight-seeing along the beach, we were back on and giving it the berries, making it past Ellyse without giving her any excitement. She should have set up at the gate near the end, the rider is forced to steer the bike through a small gap so the probability of some interesting happenings is a lot higher. A learning from riding motorcycles for a few years now is that many crashes occur when the mind is not fully on the job. Having ridden 10km through deep sand without coming off, I saw the
end 10m ahead, mentally relaxed, and came off. Very deep sand though so a very soft landing, no damage except to pride. After getting back on, I pushed on hard in the hope that no-one would remember. We re-grouped at a new track option to Port Stewart, I was surprised that Cindy was behind me, not realising that she’d been filming Ellyse-like at the end of the beach, watching the gate.
Coming off the beach at speed
Release the 400cc fury up on the Cape
A snack and then Woody suggested a shortcut through to Port Stewart; he’d never done it before so it could be like Gollum leading Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee into Mordor, or it could be like Moses leading the Israelites into the Promised Land. I was hoping it was the Gollum tour, I wasn’t keen on it taking 40 years. The track proved a beauty; nothing terrifying and we soon arrived into Port Stewart at the Lama Lama community centre. We met up with the local leader Karen, who took us through the museum. We were blown away – the photographs of the Lama Lama people from the 1920’s including Karen’s relatives were extraordinary in showing the detail behind Aboriginal life at the time. A visit to Port Stewart is highly recommended. The riding after that was up to Coen on a fast yet at times slippery granite sand road to the “sExchange” Hotel, fair dinkum, and then to Archer River, a major settlement on the Development Road. The Archer River roadhouse was womaned by a class A battle-axe – while filling up with petrol it was suggested that rooms might be available, then not, then they were, but all customers spending money certainly needed to be yelled at. We didn’t care and booked one. Also didn’t care about comments from our fellow riders about being soft at yet another magnificent Ellwood dinner with a few reds from the roadhouse bar.
Day 4 started with mystery – why had the angry Archer River roadhouse woman allowed someone to sleep on the grass outside our room? Or maybe she’d charged him $150 too for the pleasure? Who cares, the socks were dry and ready to go again. The group split again, some going via a recently cut track and Cindy and I going directly to Wolverton Station, turned out the only technical challenge we had was cattle plugging the road. Some discussion with the kids about how schooling works out there, and we were off up through Wolverton to the Wenlock River. Today was river day – the Wenlock was deep and sandy.
Queued up for a Wenlock River crossing
I was last in the queue, this is usually not good because everyone else chews up the crossing
and it only works if the person in front shows the easy way through. Around the bend into the river, then wait, which rarely improves the outcome. Wait some more for stuff happening out of sight. Then Woody gives the signal; “Go, go!”, then “Wait, wait!”, mixed signals also rarely improve the outcome, but I went into a deep bit regardless and the bike was flooded. Woody immediately into action – push the bike out of the river, pull the carby plug out to get rid of the water in the fuel, put it in 5th and rock backward to force the water out of the cylinder via the exhaust valve, and then get the bike standing up to run the water out of the exhaust. Back on and going in moments.
Roosted with black sticky mud
Then a navigational challenge, Ellyse led us across country through a plain of black soil, no roads or tracks so a need to stay very close together. In the low patches the black soil became black mud, luckily not wet enough to cause major dramas. Loved this section as it was classic adventure riding – slow and technical with balance and clutch/throttle control the key. The Yellow Perils hated it – at slow speed they overheat and cut out, usually with the front tyre a foot from a 12” log needing a bit of a throttle blip or with the front wheel just over the top of a steep creek bank. Finally figured out about keeping the revs high and constant and just use the clutch. Lunch by the side of Portland Road, then a second lunch at the turnoff to Frenchman’s Track. Frenchman’s Track was not easy. Lots of bottomless ruts and rocky stuff, Billy went down in a boulder-strewn creek but besides a weird gel balloon growing on the side of his leg that he encouraged everyone to poke at and comment on, he was OK. Then we got to the Pascoe River. Straight down a very steep embankment, we had to stop as this thing was nowhere near rideable. Deep river crossing process began – firstly find straight branches of around 3” diameter and 5’ length to push under the forks and the swingarm – then assemble 4 volunteers, 2 up the front, 2 holding the back end up, and later on we realised we needed a Safety lifting the back wheel for when any of the other 4 fell over.
Cindy-Mindy, Woody, Shelby, and “Come On!” Mick showing how it is done
Carting eight bikes over a river with big boulders and lots of slips is a real work-out. As an early onset senior citizen I could have used at least a week in a 5-star resort to recover, and I wasn’t at my peak for the next bit of the ride and I’d forgotten to turn my music on. Hooking along there was one of those moments – stay to the left of deep ruts or go to the right – I went right and instantly knew right was wrong. There was a thin level-ish side of the road and a steep uneven slope down into the rut. Front wheel happily up on the level-ish side of the road and giving it the berries to keep the back wheel spinning along the side of the rut. Worked well until the back wheel got traction, which caused me to launch off the road into the trees, miraculously missing everything but crashing hard. Woody pulled up and couldn’t believe I wasn’t somewhere between seriously hurt and dead, but we were soon back on and going again. Probably should have stopped for a bit to recover, but we pushed on, still without music. My riding got worse, everything became a struggle, and I went down in soft sand, hard. Woody made the decision to lead me out – at least I wouldn’t have to try to pick a line and could just follow. Made all the difference following an amazing rider, and we soon caught up with the rest at the Wenlock River second crossing.
Straight through and over, no dramas.
Second Wenlock River crossing, Shelby demonstrating the Toby Price “legs akimbo” technique
After a nice rest, Joy De Vivre and music returned to help me and I was fully back in the game for the final 20km section, just loving picking the lines and riding hard, it is amazing the difference being mentally switched on and listening to AC-DC makes. We poked out onto the main road and were soon up to Moreton Station, yet again on the Wenlock River. Cindy, Squid, and Brendan were already there with camp set-up, a swim was suggested, and after it was confirmed that no-one had been eaten by a crocodile that day, accepted. Unfortunately there was no bathing jetty, a gross failure by the local council I’m sure, so the hardest crash of the day occurred on the muddy bank. A hypertension relax while keeping a close eye on anything resembling a crocodile, i.e. any of 1,000 nearby logs, and it was time to set up camp and enjoy a hard-earned and magnificent camp-oven dinner. Marli and Lee from the Cape York Croc Tent – the most northerly permanent residents of the continent, joined us at Moreton for the remainder of the trip and were welcomed into the fold. Day 5 started with a blast up to Bramwell Roadhouse for a sausage roll and very hot coffee. Bramwell Roadhouse is the start of the true Telegraph Track, but we decided to go straight up to Fruit Bat Falls. Lots of 4WD’s take the Telegraph Track because this is the section that includes the famous Gunshot Creek, so the road up to Fruit Bat was very quiet and fast.
When we got to the fork in the road, we took it
We pulled into Fruit Bat and had plenty of time to wander about, admire the beauty of the falls, and relax before the rest of the group appeared. Some had slid on their bums down the Gunshot, a story to tell people back home especially if the part about sliding on their bums was omitted. Plenty of swimming by the whole group – a major advantage of MX gear is that it backs up as swimming costumes even though the boots don’t work too well as flippers.
The Red Wiggle appears at Fruit Bat Falls
Mounted up again, we pushed further down the river to Elliot Falls, another magnificent place but with less places to get in to swim and
therefore fewer people. We hung around long enough to watch Squid do a backflip over the falls, then continued up the Telegraph Track.
Olympic divers should wear MX boots to make it more interesting
There was some poor riding technique up this part, I got stuck in a pothole in a river, dropped the bike at the top of a rise, and was in a general funk. Cindy was riding well and inspired me with a subtle “Poor dear, do you want to turn around and go back to the main road?”, after that it was raw aggressive riding, smashing through and over everything until we reached Mistake Creek and the road out toward the Jardine River crossing. The crossing is one of the rare “no alternatives” to the Cape, everyone must use the ferry because the alternatives are certain failure and a buffet for crocodiles. Timing is important as they keep very strict work hours, one minute past close and you’ve missed it, and there are no facilities. Due to Covid the place was empty when we arrived, except for a Toyota Landcruiser Sahara which I accidentally glanced into. I wanted to get in to experience the dust-free climate control, real bad. A final wander the short distance up to Bamaga for fuel and then out to Loyalty Beach for our final camping spot for two nights. Yet another fabulous camp dinner, our last as the next one would be up at the Loyalty Beach Pub, assuming we could coax performance from aching bodies for one more day. Day 6. The big one. Woody and the other leaders had stressed in their speeches the whole way up about the disappointment and regret felt by those who hurt themselves, don’t get to the top, and have to watch everyone else achieve it. So nerves and tension were still there, the job wasn’t finished. Off we went at 8am as usual, down a reasonably challenging track and through a nasty creek crossing which brought a few undone, and onto the main road to meet up with Lee and Marli at the Croc Tent.
The fun never stopped for Cindy & Squid
The Croc tent is unfortunately a souvenir place selling all sorts of stuff including “I rode all the way to the Top” magnets, stickers, stubby holders, dish cloths, and T-shirts. The ultimate way to put the mozz on me I thought as I watched Cindy load up, I wondered how many had come off badly in the last 17.8km while pre-emptively sporting an un-deserved “I Rode to the Top” singlet. As always, things you think might happen rarely do, and after a very pleasant ride through the thick forests, we popped out onto the beach.
Some walking was then required, I thought someone said 4km so had started weeping at the thought of that in MX boots, but it turned out to be only 700m and well within tolerances for personal non-motorised travel. Again Covid came to the rescue, there was only a small group at the sign so there was plenty of opportunity for congratulation and photos. The feeling was a bit like standing at Cape L’Agulhas at the southern tip of Africa in 2017 – we’d faced moments of terror and lots more of comradeship and fun on the journey – and had made it.
Cindy at the less popular most northern termite mound in Australia
Various options for sight-seeing or more hard-core “off the chain” riding were offered up by Ellwood, unsurprisingly we accepted the option which included the Australian mainland’s most northerly mine. Firstly a look around the tragic Bob Ansett Cape York Resort, now looking like the original Jurassic Park and slowly being overgrown. Then back to the Croc Tent to turn off north to the Punsand Bay resort. Lee was now leading, as a local she had been out to the most northerly mine and thought she could figure out the route. Charging off the road, a very vague track wandered through the dry scrub and suddenly mullock piles alerted us to the fact that we’d arrived at the Holland Reef (Ginger Dicks) Tin Mine. Future Ellwood tours will probably make it mandatory to visit the mine, reaching the Cape is done by thousands but very few know where to see Ginger Dicks. A final treat was Cable Beach to see the termination concrete block with the telegraph cables embedded.
Ginger Dicks Tin Mine and Telegraph cables termination
Off to Punsand Bay to the resort for a very well-deserved lunch, and then the ride back to Loyalty Beach Pub which wasn’t without incident, Cindy managed to get through her nemesis creek crossing but then dropped the bike while celebrating, perhaps a fitting way to finish. Back at camp, bikes were washed and loaded, riding gear was hung in the laundry tree, and dressing for dinner completed. Off to the pub, excellent fish and chips and many wines were had, and the trip was over, with only a ride to the airport in the Loyalty Beach courtesy bus left to do the next day.
End of the riding
So, to summarise. Ellwood first. The most telling statistic for the trip was the number of complaints from the customers. Zero. Not one. The team are all extremely competent riders and champions in their own right. Advice and tips through the tough bits were excellent in keeping
people going, but the best was that regardless of our ability they worked really hard to get us to the top and have got people in their late 60’s up OK. Squid’s support for Cindy and I was great and he made the whole thing exceptional fun. They also work very hard to get access through the stations and Aboriginal land, and watching Woody talk with the locals to build relationships showed how it should be done; respectfully. Next our experience. Would recommend it strongly to anyone with basic experience riding trail bikes. Were we too old to do it? No, apart from a few bruises for me and something that almost became a blister for Cindy, injuries extremely minor considering what we rode through. Yes, you can ride the whole way up the development road on big adventure bikes, get covered in dust and suffer RSI from the corrugations in places, but get there regardless and have a lot of fun. But would you see as much? Not really, apart from the southern end the best riding and scenery and wildlife and lack of traffic was on the side-tracks. We saw a big adventure bike on the Telegraph Track, but even though he was an excellent rider he was lucky that he bumped into our group. Woody’s attitude is to help anyone and everyone on the Cape - you are a long way from the RACQ out there. Yet again we held our luck with tour companions, all great people with no hesitation in offering help and getting stuck in, and some hilarious nights were had around the campfire. As always this story is dedicated to them, with extra special dedication to the four who helped me carry my bike over the Pascoe River and those who pulled me out of the sand a few times.
Paul Hughes, Member #3126 trespassing?.... Steve Herpich, Member #4294 “Beautiful R90S in Bormio, Italy July 2013.”
Steve Herpich, Member #4294
Michael Johnson, Member #4594 “Seen while in Warsaw chained to a post in the ghetto”
Michael Ahlberg, Member #4331 “Out and about in Paris.” Editors: Some absolute classics there Michael & Anne
Jane Gray, Member #4300 “Tony found a ‘city-size’ BMW in Paris during our 2010 UK/Europe trip” Steve Herpich, Member #4294 “Meredith’s bike being admired by fellow bikers in Cortina, Italy June 2013.”
