Away from crowds

Australia Day is usually a very busy day on the roads. 

A lot of folk likes to pop down to the beach and local park to get drunk, disguised for what they call "celebration". I am not a fan of the mob and even less the rather embarrassing scenes of some parties. I like to get away from all that.

As soon as I headed inland, away from popular spots, even the main roads were surprisingly empty. I like to explore and find a spot to spend the night away from amenities and noisy neighbors, a place that I discover by accident, not because an Instacrap post recommended it. Rural dirt roads don't always go through and occasionally I have to backtrack; that however ensures I get to see places that most don't.

If am lucky, at the end of the day I find a spot on a creek or by the river, where I wash off the dust of riding on dirt roads.

A simple tarp is enough to keep the dew off me at night while still allowing to be in contact with nature.

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The road less traveled

When I come in a fork in the road I take it.
I take the road less traveled as it gives me a different perspective to the predictable.




Winter sunset over the Scenic Rim of South East Queensland.


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The need for getting lost

I find a strange pleasure in getting lost, intentionally.
In a world that is fully mapped with extreme detail, where the eye-in-the-sky of Google Earth can bring me to view any tiny remote place on the planet, I sometimes long for the feeling of not knowing where I am.
Being lost, at least temporarily, in a natural setting brings me the (false) sense that the world is not so small after all.
Where not essential, like in a busy urban environment, I prefer to not use electronic navigation aids. I roughly work out where I want to head away from busy places and then often I just want to explore.

Lately I have been finding myself more and more drawn to dirt roads where a clear direction is not defined. I choose a forest with a network of trails, some rather smooth, some very rough, not suitable for my riding choice. I have to make a judgment call not to bite more than I chew.
As they say: when you come to a fork in the road, take it.
Sometimes my gut feeling says right and other times left, according to what valley or mountain ridge  peek through the forest trees.


Getting lost, no longer sure of my heading

Last Sunday I had full tank of gas and enough water in my backpack to keep thirst at bay. I rode for a few hours, stopping at times when the views demanded it.
Slowly I could no longer work out the right perceived direction to get back onto the pavement. I knew if I rode long enough I could have popped out somewhere but the rutted, rocky and pot-holed tracks were tiring me out; I didn't want to make a mistake and crash.


Steep, loose and dusty

I stumbled across a 4X4 driver, stopped at an intersection and swallowing my manly pride rode up to the driver side and asked for directions.
She had a phone in her hand looking at a map and pointed me in the direction I came from: "take a left when you come at the last intersection, keep left and eventually you will get out".
I had my phone in my pocket with detailed GPS maps too but somehow it was easier and nicer to ask for directions.

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Off the beaten path

When chasing dreams of years past I feel most comfortable when I am in "adventure" mode.
Sea kayak expeditions certainly give me that but a friendly coast that allows me to explore is not always easy to attain.
Before my wet adventures I used to ride motorcycles, adventure bikes, before that class even existed.
I am now back on two wheels and while backroads away from the main highways do give me a sense of escape, my heart is still in the dirt, dirt roads that is.


Yamaha XSR700

My bike needed some tires that would make it sing on gravel, it needed teeth to bight into the soil.
While not really a machine that could cross the desert like my previous rides, this little thumper behaves well enough to be comfortable on country farm roads that are not paved. And that is where I like to ride.





There is no traffic, only the occasional vehicle that is going into town for supplies. There is a bit of dust and a few creek crossings, a bit of loose stones and mud after rain. There are no curbs or shoulders, no speed cameras and drunken drivers, no ass-hauling trucks with swaying trailer. Mostly there is nobody out there, just me. But I see horses and cows, and towards the evening a few kangaroos that hop across the road. Speeds are low but the ride is thrilling in a different way.





And then I stop anywhere I want and there is nothing but silence, maybe an undertone buzzing sound of insects, maybe a laughing kookaburra.
Inevitably my eyes keep on scouting for suitable places to camp even if I have no intention to do that tonight. It's like in the old days when I used to ride with a few buddies, heading West.
Bikes loaded with camping gear and a map stuck to the gas tank. It was pre-digital era where a compass would be consulted occasionally. I still carry a map today even if my phone could get me out of a geographical embarrassment if needed.






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