Darwin for Dinner
A chronicle of adventure begins
(Copyright Colonel Barton-Burroughs, 2008)

The idea of a good long distance ride was hatched from a simple telephone call to my older and only brother, Jeffrey, a man I'd seen once in ten years and had last spoken to about five years ago - we're not what you'd call a close family.  With the aid of the internet White Pages directory, including a rough idea he was currently living in the Darwin area in Australia's Northern Territory, a couple of telephone calls soon found the correct address.

After a long overdue phone call my brother Jeff remarked, "well if you're ever up this way mate, don't hesitate to drop in and see us".

My question to him, knowing he was always an excellent BBQ chef, "…and perhaps drop in for dinner?"

"Sure", he responded, "we'd love to see ya".

"Okay, make it Saturday night, the week after next… I'll drop in if I'm up that way!".

Now, let's take a close look at this.  I've just had a dinner invitation for Saturday night two weeks from now and all I've got to do is ride the 4,400km (2,735 miles) to his house.  No problem when you can jump on a Harley-Davidson Electra Glide and my beautiful beast, a 1999 Ultra Classic (Twin Cam 88) in Vivid Black, had just received its 16,000km major service the previous week and been fitted with a new Dunlop D402 rear tyre.  I estimated the front Dunlop D402 had at least 8,000km to 10,000km left and so I won't need to worry about that until I get back.  The bike has never been in better trim for a long distance ride so all I've got to do is get some travelling gear together.

Darwin is Australia's most northerly city (capital of the Northern Territory) and my planned route would see me travel 1,600km (994 miles) west through my home state of New South Wales to Port Augusta, South Australia.  From there I'd ride 2,700km (1,678 miles) along the Stuart Highway, through central Australia, to where it ends in Darwin - a total distance from Sydney to Darwin of 4,300km (2,672 miles) over an estimated five days.  The return journey would be to ride 1,000km (622 miles) back down the Stuart Highway to where I'd turn east to travel into Queensland, south through central Queensland and back into New South Wales near Bourke.  The return trip I calculated at 4,200km (2,610 miles) and again I gave myself five days to cover that route.  With the proposed weekend in Darwin I was looking forward to the twelve days away, the challenge and endurance of the long ride and a chance to catch up with my older brother.  I'd also heard he'd been married within the last couple of years - so this trip would give me an opportunity to meet my new sister-in-law.

Darwin's daily temperatures vary only by a few degrees throughout the year with summer maximums (December to February) around 33° C (91° F) and winter maximums (June to August) around 28° C (82° F).  However, the humidity changes throughout the year with the Wet Season running from November to March where humidity climbs well into the 90% region and is accompanied with periods of monsoonal rain and cyclonic conditions.  The month of May would be a good time to travel to Darwin but I knew I'd be passing through some cold regions on the way north and back, when I rode through the lower latitudes.

Accommodation on the trip would be a combination of camping (to cut costs) with the occasional cabin or motel room when raining/cold, or a long day in the saddle warranted a few creature comforts.  I dragged out my trusty camp-bag with tent, sleeping bag, mattress, pillow and other items and positioned it on the pillion seat, held in place by an elastic cargo net and bungee cords.  I wouldn't be carrying cooking gear but would rely on roadside diners to start the day with a good breakfast (generally cereal, eggs, toast, jam and coffee) and eat very lightly throughout the day and towards evening.  On long trips I usually pack enough clothing for about five to six days and look for a Laundromat or camping park facilities to wash and dry my gear after a week on the road.  So with the bike fuelled and everything packed on a Sunday evening in May I was ready to roll.

I had planned to leave home at 5am the next day (Monday 15^th May) but pre-tour excitement the night before saw me up quite early, showered and rolling out of my driveway at 3am.  The first two day's riding would be quite average with the run through to Port Augusta and the start of the Stuart Highway.  I'd travelled the highway across western New South Wales into South Australia a couple of times before so the first part of the trip would be nothing new.

The Ultra's tyre and suspension set-up for the trip, to haul my trim 100kg body mass and about 30kg in luggage, was 38psi front and 42psi rear tyre pressures, with the air suspension being a comfortable 16psi front and 12psi rear.  The pressures gave a firm tyre response from the roadway with the suspension being set for a soft ride, without wallowing too much in corners.  I carried the Progressive Suspension micro-pump so that suspension pressures could be adjusted for altering road conditions along the way.  My "around town" and short highway runs during the Ultra's first 16,000km (10,000 miles) had always been at a steady 100kph (62 mph) or whatever speed limits prevailed at the time - such riding style returning a steady 19.7km/l during this period.  For this trip, being the next 8,000+km (5,000 miles) of its life, the riding would be at a sustained 120kph all day for about the next ten to eleven days, so a comparative fuel consumption figure will be interesting.

Within an hour of departure I was at the foothills of the Blue Mountains, west of Sydney, being suitably attired for this section in my padded winter riding suit, thermal jacket liner and heavy winter gloves for the pre-dawn crossing of the mountains.  As it turned out the expected low temperatures over the mountains were anti-climactic but just before dawn I pulled into the Mobil Diner east of Bathurst where the temperature was a crisp 4° C (39° F) - a bit cool for motorcycle riders in this part of the world.  I enjoyed a hot mug of coffee to wait while the rising sun warmed the scenery a little and a short time later I was back on the road heading west.  I was glad after I passed through Wellington, about 370km (230 miles) west of Sydney.  That's where the 110kph speed signs commence on the open road, meaning you can quite happily cruise at 120kph (75mph or 3,000rpm top gear on the Ultra Twin Cam 88) without fear of getting booked by the radar-equipped local Highway Patrol.  I won't bore you with details of that first day's ride other than to say I rolled into my planned stop at Wilcannia, 989km (615 miles) west of Sydney at 5pm after 14 hours on the road.

Most Aussie readers would be familiar with the name of Wilcannia as I think many countries tend to have an example of this town, where social unrest and racial tension make a volatile mixture in a media-focused community.  Wilcannia has a high population of indigenous Australians and regardless of a person's beliefs on current aboriginal issues, the town does have a modern history of racial problems, exacerbated by irresponsible media attention and reporting.  That night I had been invited to stay at the home of Kelly and Dean, serving officers at Wilcannia Police Station.  Their police residence is situated inside the compound, attached to the police barracks.  The bike would be resting for its first evening inside a locked garage within the police compound - with two large German Shepherds patrolling the grounds for an added comfort factor.  I don't think the bike or I had ever slept so soundly before.

Kelly and Dean in the "Compound"

The next morning (Tuesday 16^th May) I lazily slept-in and was then treated to a leisurely breakfast on the patio with Kelly and Dean, both of them not scheduled to work that day, they could afford to relax and talk for a few hours.  But finally I thought I'm never going to get anywhere if I sit there talking, so at mid-day I rolled the bike out of the shed and headed west out of Wilcannia on the 200km (124 miles) to Broken Hill.  After Broken Hill the rest of the day was uneventful and without any real adventure as I crossed into South Australia, rolling into the rural town of Peterborough just after 6pm, some 449km (279 miles) out of Wilcannia.  As the sun set I started to feel a real chill in the air in this part of the country, so that night I opted for motel accommodation and a nice warm bed.  Well, there I was dear readers at the end of Day Two and about 123km (76 miles) short of my intended destination for that day, Port Augusta.  If I was going to keep on schedule for the trip I think I'll have to forget the "sleep-in's" and unhurried breakfasts.

I was standing on the doorstep of the motel office at 7:30am the next day (Wednesday 17^th May) and waiting for the manager to open the office - eager to pay my account and be on the road.  It was quite a cool, misty morning and I went through the usual routine of allowing the beast to idle while I had a smoke and did a "walk-around" checking for any obvious signs of impending mechanical doom.  I checked the indicators and lights, made a visual inspection of the tyres and checked for any visible fluid leaks?  No, everything appeared fine so I gently eased out of Peterborough just after 7:30am and headed north-west towards Port Augusta.

Riding out of Peterborough I followed my usual routine for getting underway each morning which is based on the bike being allowed to warm up gradually for what I require of it in the next few hours.  It's a simple procedure I've discussed with other FLH riders and may be entirely anal or unnecessary - but I feel comfortable with it.  Leaving town I ride at 60kph (37 mph) for the first 5km (3 miles) and 80kph (50 mph) for the next 10km.  After that initial 15km I ease the throttle open to 100kph (62 mph) and hold this for the next 15km, or even further depending on the ambient air temperature.  It's only after the motor has been running at 100kph for 30km or more will I then think about taking it up to its normal 120kph (75 mph) cruising speed.  On really cold mornings I might work it up through the road speed range for 50km before I'll engage cruise control at 120kph, then sit back to let the machine earn its keep.  Hey, if I'm going to ask the bike to give me 750km to 800km (466 to 500 miles) at a sustained 120kph during the next ten hours, the least I can do is let her warm up gradually for the day's demands.  Some may find this entirely uncalled-for, but I'm happy with it and I practice this procedure regularly.

By 9am I'd refuelled at Port Augusta and turned right at the T-intersection near the outskirts of town; the start of the sign-posted 2,729 km (1,696 mile) Stuart Highway through central Australia to Darwin.  As I built up to a normal cruising pace along the Stuart Highway already the landscape was opening up before me as flat, barren and dry.  A couple of kilometres outside town I stopped at a large road sign, the message having quite important information from this point for the next week or more.  Australian outback farms (termed: properties or stations) tend to be huge and the main highway simply passes across the sheep station or cattle station's paddocks - there are no fences built along the roadside to prevent stock straying onto the highway!  So not only must you remain alert for Australian native animals (kangaroos, emus and wombats) which could do a lot of damage to a motorcycle and rider, but you must watch for introduced or feral species (goats, donkeys, buffalo, camels, pigs) and be vigilant for domestic and farm stock.

Leaving Port Augusta on the start of the Stuart Highway

Large warning sign on Stuart Highway

A feature of outback highway cruising, which requires your riding attention, are the stock grids positioned where the highway crosses a boundary separating one property from the next.  These are grid or grating constructions built into the road surface which allow a vehicle to pass across, but prevent animals from walking over for fear of getting their hooves or paws caught in the grid.  In South Australia and Northern Territory these are well built, smooth and flat with the road surface, which give nothing more than a slight hum when you ride across at 120kph.  But Queensland?  That's another story and I'll cover that later in this chronicle of wondrous adventures.

As I continued north from Port Augusta the scenery changed to typical South Australian outback landscape of dry, treeless plains reaching to the horizon.  The Stuart Highway in South Australia is a well constructed two-lane highway of smooth bitumen surface; the lanes being about 4m (13 feet) wide with a 1m bitumen shoulder.  Over the previous two days I'd encountered survey features typical of Australian outback highway construction which are predominantly straight highway stretches about 10km to 12km long (6 to 7 miles) which will then veer or curve slightly as they pass over a hill or around some other geographical feature.  In some areas of western New South Wales and into South Australia I'd already ridden along straight sections of road for about 60km (37 miles) before encountering a slight curve in the roadway (which the use of theodolite and compass can only detect) before travelling along another straight of similar length.  This is what a large proportion of Australian outback highway riding is about with the road conditions making it possible to travel at good speed.

Riding north through the state of South Australia the landscape was a succession of wide open plains followed by undulating countryside covered in thick saltbush scrub.  About 170km (106 miles) from Port Augusta I rode up over cold, windswept hills and into the Pimba Roadhouse.  This fuel stop in the middle of a barren wilderness is about the only thing that Pimba offers, although it is the turning off point for Woomera and the Andamooka opal fields.  Woomera is Australia's version of the USA's Cape Canaveral, albeit considerably smaller and with an annual budget probably equivalent of NASA's cafeteria.  In the 1960's Woomera was quite active with the Australian and British governments running satellite launch programs from the facilities, but about the only thing keeping Woomera alive now is the US military presence associated with their experiments.

The rest of Wednesday I continued along the Stuart Highway and around 4pm I'd arrived in the opal mining town of Coober Pedy, 730km (454 miles) for the day and 2168km (1347 miles) from home.  Originally I'd planned staying the night at Coober Pedy but there was something about the place that really didn't captivate me.  It's without doubt a classic mining town and there didn't seem to be anything glamorous about the place.  In most mining areas a small community exists near to where the mines are located, but not Coober Pedy.  This was where a huge open-cut mine had been dug in the early part of the 20^th century and the town was then, basically, built in the mine!  Extraction of the opal bearing deposits is by either open-cut or deep shaft methods and for miles around Coober Pedy you see nothing but hundreds if not thousands of mine shafts.  Warning signs were positioned everywhere to remind tourists of the ever present dangers of falling into deep holes.  With that I decided Cadney Park Roadhouse, about 154km (96 miles) further up the road, may be a better bet for the night.

Coober Pedy, with its thousands of mine shafts

A spectacular desert moonrise

A few kilometres from Cadney Park I was really impressed with the desert sunset so, pulling over to the side of the road, I extracted my faithful little Canon camera from the right glove compartment.  Parking the bike by the roadside I drew upon my artistic abilities (Ed Note: that should read autistic) to recreate the scene for your viewing pleasure.  But when I turned around I realised the eastern moonrise was far more spectacular with its various hues of blue and purple in the early night sky.  Right on 6pm I pulled into Cadney Park Roadhouse, parked the bike and, in the failing evening light, had a quick look at the camping area and roadhouse.  Not being excited with its overnight facilities (I was becoming a fussy bitch by this stage), plus the fact I was only 80km from Marla Bore, I decided to take a cautious 80kmh run over the next hour and continue onwards.  As the sun had now set the desert evening chill was having its effect and I took the time to slip into my full winter riding suit for the run into Marla Bore.

Well, the next hour was something I hadn't expected to be so inherently dangerous as I sat upright, with eyes glued about 40m to 50m in front of the bike, and my headlight and driving lights burning a limited safety zone in front of me.  I've never seen so many kangaroos, either in the middle of the road or by the side, with the main danger - they were the same grey colour as the bloody road surface!  Now remember that at 80kph you are travelling at just over 22m (73 feet) per second and, bearing in mind you couldn't make out their shape until you saw them move (if lucky), you'd be practically on top of them before you were aware.  After a couple of near misses I slowed right down.  Then, after a short period of time and having seen no kangaroos in the last couple of kilometres, I'd pick the pace up again - only to have the sh*t totally scared out of me once more.  I counted every one of those kilometres and minutes into Marla Bore.

Eventually the comforting lights of Marla emerged from the darkness and just after 7pm I wheeled into the roadhouse and refuelled the bike, having covered 969km (602 miles) that day.  The camping ground at Marla Bore was full and all they could offer was an unappealing patch of clay to pitch my tent on.  Intending to make an early start the next day, I opted for a motel room that night - setting my alarm clock for 4am.

The next morning (Thursday 18^th May), after a warming shower and daily starter of nicotine & caffeine (usual practice when a nearby diner isn't open), at 5am I rode out of the Marla Bore Roadhouse and commenced my usual warming up procedure.  Not realising the morning's low temperature I had dressed in jeans and wore my riding jacket without thermal liner.  Within 30 minutes I realised this had been an exceptionally ridiculous plan; I was starting to freeze as I felt the pre-dawn chill seeping through my bones.  About 50km north of Marla Bore I couldn't go any further, pulled over to the side of the road and stopped on the 1m bitumen shoulder, even having trouble at that stage moving my left leg to put the side-stand down properly.  It was absolutely freezing and my fingers worked numbly on the straps to release my thermal pants and jacket liner attached to the top of the camp bag.  I sat down in the middle of the bitumen highway, the cold from the road surface biting my bum, as I slid the pants up over my jeans and then removed my jacket to zip the liner into place.  When I was fully dressed I walked around, jumped up and down and moved every muscle in my body to promote blood circulation and restore body warmth.  Jesus sweet Lord it was cold!

Finally the warmth started to spread through my body, to my fingers and toes, and I stood there on the highway facing east with a huge full moon setting at my back in the west.  The surrounding landscape was an eerie silver desert, not a sound to be heard and my shadow snaked out over the ground about 30m in front of me.  I had become part of this surrealistic scene, as I stood there in my warm cocoon and marvelled at nature's simplistic beauty.

"What on earth am I doing out here?" I contemplated.

Reaching into my jacket pocket I removed my cigarettes.  It was so cold that when I flicked my cigarette lighter the flame froze solid.  I had to snap it off the cigarette lighter, pop it into my mouth for a while to suck on it and thaw it out, then pull it back out when it was ready to light my smoke.

I asked myself, "Barton-Burroughs, old chap… really... what are you doing here?  You're standing on probably one of the most desolate highways in the known universe, an hour before sunrise and absolutely freezing your tits off.  Lad, you've gotta have rocks in your head!"

A couple more puffs on the cigarette and I eventually answered, "what you're doing here, young man, is proving there's very little adventure in life these days.  Where the hell's the chivalry gone from modern life - you're here confronting a challenging experience.  Both Poles have been conquered, plus Armstrong and the boys have been to the moon.  That leaves bugger-all for the modern motorcycle adventurer I suppose!"

I then told myself to f*ck off, got into an argument with myself and finally threatened to ride off and leave me there if I didn't come to my senses.  Oh dear, I think the initial stages of hypothermia and isolation had set in.  With that I remounted the greatest motorcycle ever built and motored at a sensible speed, considering the potential of encountering roadside wildlife, as I continued towards Kulgera and the Northern Territory border.

Dawn finally broke and the sun slowly inched above the horizon just after 7am, its gentle radiance starting to make the ride more tolerable.   I crossed the border into the Northern Territory and a short time later I rode into the driveway of Kulgera Roadhouse for coffee and fuel.  Gently lowering the side-stand I eased my cold, aching bones off the Harley and walked into the warmth of the store.

An old guy behind the counter was surprised as I walked in.  He jumped up from reading his newspaper, a gape almost straight from the publication 'Most Startled Looks of the 21^st Century' and burst out, "mate, where the hell did you come from?"

"I just rode in from Marla Bore".

With a puzzled expression he asked, "what time didya leave there?"

"…aah… about five o'clock this morning", I replied.

"Shit a brick mate, are ya bloody suicidal or somethin'?  Christ, ya wouldn't even catch me out on the roads in a car that time of day let alone on a bloody motabike!!"

As he walked away towards the back of the kitchen I heard him muttering, "hey Ted, this crazy bugger just rode in from Marla… said he left there at five this mornin'… there's one born every f*cking minute ya know".

Somehow I think I'd just done something these chaps didn't exactly see the merits in - maybe the locals know something I should be taking notice of?

I downed the first cup of coffee and I don't think it even touched the sides as its warmth hit my frosty tummy.  Ordering a second cup I wandered outside and stood talking in the sunshine with a couple of Dutch travellers who'd sauntered over from the camping area.  It was fascinating to hear of their trekking through Europe and Africa, with the adventures they'd encountered along the way before arriving on Australia's west coast about five weeks previous.

We’d been standing there talking in the morning sun for about twenty minutes when the old guy came out of the shop with chilling news.  The midnight Greyhound bus out of Port Augusta won't be arriving at Kulgera this morning.  At 2:15am, just outside Pimba, the bus had hit a kangaroo on the road and on impact the 'roo had come through the bus' windscreen.  The bus had veered off the road resulting in the driver receiving fatal injuries; the two passengers seated directly behind him being rushed to hospital in a critical condition.  Chilling news?   I can tell you this sobered me to the thought of travelling on these roads in darkness. The locals weren't trying to be dramatic at all - when they say stay off the roads on a motorcycle after dark, they know what they're bloody well talking about!!

But now a new drama emerged at Kulgera.  When I wheeled the bike over to the pumps the attendant announced that the computer controlled system was down and that a technician would be lucky to get out from Alice Springs that day to repair the problem.  Kulgera had no fuel available!  Where was the next fuel available?  Another 80km (50 miles) up the road at Erldunda Roadhouse, the main turn-off to Ayres Rock.  How far had I ridden on the current tank?  About 180km (112 miles) from Marla Bore and that hadn't been at my usual 120kph pace.  I was more than confident I had sufficient fuel to make it into Erldunda so, not to tempt fate and suffer an empty tank in the middle of Australia, I decided to cruise the next hour at a comfortable 80kph to 90kph.  Sitting back on a beautiful big Harley tourer, the morning sun warming me to the core, I gently motored along a remote outback Australian highway to the strains of Frank Sinatra's "New York, New York" pumping over the stereo.  I wondered what the poor people were doing at that moment back in Sydney?

Kulgera Roadhouse, Northern Territory border

There you are Mike, pretty close to the centre of Australia

Twenty minutes up the road and not having passed a vehicle since leaving Kulgera I availed myself of a photograph opportunity on behalf of my friend, Captain Mike Burke of the US Navy, currently based in Hawaii.  You see, at that moment, I was about 120km (75 miles) west of the geographical centre of the Australian continent and about as close as I would ever get on a Harley Ultra, unless I fitted motocross knobbly tyres.  Stopping the beastie in the middle of the highway I took a pic to say, "...there you are Mike.  You asked whether I'd be going near the Australian outback on my ride.  Well, this is about as far outback as you can get on an FLH - a stone's throw from the centre of Oz!"  If you have a look at the accompanying photograph (above) you'll see that the land is as flat as far as the eye can see, so flat it's actually painful to look at!

I jumped back onto Black Beauty and continued into Erldunda Roadhouse, where an icy desert breeze had now sprung up.  Egad, I filled the bike up and stood out of the breeze while downing a warm cuppa - that place was cold. While sitting at the Roadhouse I met a couple of Swiss travellers who were motoring through central Australia in a camper-van, having saved their hard earned Francs and finally getting the time to travel Down Under.  God bless the poor devils, after reading books and magazines on Australia's desert regions, then finally trekking all the way to the bottom of the world, they were wondering where all the deserts were.  The unseasonal rains which had lashed Australia's Top End and arid districts during the preceding months resulted in lush green grass and healthy bushland as far as the eye could see.  The farmer's windfall had also become the long distance travellers misfortune.

From Erldunda I rode north with only 200km (124 miles) remaining to Australia's most central city - Alice Springs.  Having crossed the Finke River and approaching Alice from the south the wide open flatlands started to build into rugged hills and rocky outcrops, these being the lower extremes of the McDonnell Mountain Range.  The highway and countryside reminded me very much of images I've seen of the USA's Arizona landscape.  Riding along the Stuart Highway with a beautiful big Harley FLH rumbling under me, I had mental pictures of 1972 - Johnny Wintergreen and Zipper working the Arizona highways.  If any FLH owner/rider out there has to ask who Johnny Wintergreen or Zipper are, then hang your head in shame.

Early afternoon I rode into and out the other side of Alice Springs.  Hey, it may be a very nice place but I was used to roads where three cars between me and the horizon was starting to turn into heavy traffic.  Alice Springs only meant a fuel stop to me, so after passing Hungry Jacks, McDonalds, Donut King etc., I couldn't wait to get back out onto the open road again and put some distance between me and Alice Springs.  This part of the country was starting to warm up during the day so I had to be mindful when stopping for fuel to also replenish my water supply as well.  I was reminded of what latitude I was on when, after leaving "The Alice" and riding about twenty minutes north, I came to a roadside structure signifying I was now crossing the Tropic of Capricorn.  This meant I was on a level with Rockhampton in Queensland and had passed from the Temperate into the Tropic Zone.  The afternoon was uneventful as I motored on my way north, passing through such interesting sounding places as Aileron and Ti Tree before stopping for a break at the historic Barrow Creek telegraph station.  The old buildings there are carefully restored originals of late 19^th century telegraph stations which dotted the Australian outback and maintained communication throughout the early colony.

Johnny Wintergreen and Zipper country

Entering Alice Springs

Sitting on the Tropic of Capricorn

Barrow Creek Telegraph Station

Click here for Part Two of the story