Dodging fires

The land is parched, it has been a long time since it has seen rain, and yet I hoped to reach some green spots higher on the Main Range.
The forecast was calling for high 30's maybe even 40C but nights could be still crisp.
I headed West with a vague idea of where I wanted to spend a few nights, not sure how the bush will look like.

The smoke from a week old fire was still creeping on a ridge not too far away.



When taking a wrong turn I ended up on a dead-end dirt road where the sides were all blackened, some stumps still smoldering. The local rural fire brigade saved this wonderful timber hut from the flames.



Eventually I found my way out of there and headed South where previously I spotted a great place to spend the night. Away from any highway I was hoping for a stunning view of the lower hills at sunset, but the smoke was veiling the sun giving the place an eerie orange look.



The grass was still thick and green enough to call that my camp for the night. At lunchtime the heat in the valleys reached body temperature, and yet now I was wearing a down jacket just as the night was falling.







Vanilla joined me the following day. We rode some incredibly bumpy "sealed" roads but then were relived to find dirt roads were smoother than the paved ones. The afternoon sun became just too much to be riding in the bush. A great spot on the banks of a rather shrunk river (from the drought) where shade convinced us siesta was a better idea than pushing on. At the early camp we shared the afternoon with the an incredible variety of chatterbox birds, attracted by the flowering trees.






Sadly the temperatures rose even further next day and the wind picked up. The place was a tinderbox and fires flared up turning deadly.
Our planned route to explore some remote forest tracks changed to safer main roads where travelling at speed kept us relatively much cooler than slogging in the bush.


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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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