The revived FarRider's site, "Far Road" had its first North East "iRode" recently in Alpha, QLD. Since it was over 1000km there, I figured I would start making my way home and turn it into an SS1600. There were a few collectable murals in Alpha as well, so there was another "bird to kill with the one stone".
To arrive in the traditional 11:30 to 12:00 window I had to leave at 10:30 the previous night. As usual, the attempt to get useful sleep between 7:00 and 10:00 yielded little more than a short blackout and a lot of thinking about the preparation items potentially missed.
Not much to report in the way of roos. I saw two batches of 3 or 4, all about 2 feet tall (isn't that so much easier to visualise for non-carpenters than 60cm?) and they turned and hopped away as I approached. I did observe their ears doing that "rotating thing" which I reckon was their analysis of the "Rooverser" horn sound. Every other critter, furred or feathered, was seen heading away from the bike.
Fuel enroute was going to be a challenge in the early hours. I knew the Monto Puma opened at 4:00, which was my arrival time, but couldn't depend on it, so carried 5 litres. When I got there at 3:55, I parked at the bowser, but with no sign of life at 4:00, emptied the jerry can into the tank, drained my water storage out the back and headed off to top off the tank at Biloela's 24 hour United servo. Next stop was for breakfast in Dingo. The truck stop there is 24 hour and the bacon and egg feed is built for voracious truckies. As I've said before, my "go-to" breckie is a McMuffin and kofi, but the nearest I knew is in Emerald. I felt robbed when not too far up the road I found one in Blackwater. Obviously the little place is frequented by a significant number of miners, and of course, it's on the Capricorn Highway.
I rocked into Alpha with spare time to grab a few murals before Check-in, and Steve (Tackleberry) arrived a bit early to officiate. Not wanting to spend more time than necessary in the dark, I didn't stay for lunch (in any case, I was still dealing with the Truckies' Breakfast). The next planned refuel was Springsure, but once again I wasn't going to trust the advertised opening times on a Saturday afternoon, so filled up the tank and the jerry can in Emerald before heading south. That was a good move, since the only thing I could find of any use in Springsure was a main street mural.
On to the next stop, Moura, where I knew there was a water tower mural. After snapping that I figured I was in the right headspace to make it to Gayndah, which I had already included in my ride plan. I rang a couple of motels before I could get a room (wildly over-priced; he saw me coming!) and decided it seemed wise to fill up at the Puma rather than depend on Eidsvold for fuel (which again, proved prescient). While in there paying, I caught sight of something new to me, a Chicko Corn Jack, suitably crisp from being in the heater since goodness knows when. Always one for a culinary adventure I added it to the fuel bill and stowed it for "dinner", once again not trusting anything to be open foodwise in Gayndah.
Moura is the very essence of a mining town with a huge man-made hill towering over it from the east, and extending a few kilometres southwards paralleling the road to Theodore. There's a reasonably long tunnel under the mine and then the open road south. Theodore was deserted and my GPS agreed with the single sign that pointed to Cracow. However, the GPS totally refuses to navigate directly to Cracow, denying there is a road of any kind there. So I trusted the sign and headed out into the deep darkness. Eventually the mine appeared through the gloom on my left. When my old Dad worked there in the 1940s, it was called "The Golden Plateau" and he was required to continue working there rather than go to war since the gold was more important for the war effort than recruiting for the army a few miners left as skeleton staff. In 1949 I was conceived in that little town, but made my grand appearance in Mundubbera, inconveniencing Dad and Mum by having them drive the 130km of gravel in the Whippet because I elected a breach birth- beyond the Cracow Matron's pay-grade.
Passing through Cracow there were only two premises lit up- Fred Brophy's pub (he of tent-boxing fame) and a house garden extraordinarily illuminated with many Christmas lights! Thence on into the long dark ride to Eidsvold. About halfway to Gayndah I descried a spectral phenomenon ahead of me. Drawing closer, the mystery resolved itself into a Mazda 3 driving with no tail lights and just feeble parking lights at the front. It was making a surprisingly good speed considering the lack of forward vision, so I pulled in front and led the way with my spotties at about 95kph.
The Gayndah United was still open at 8:00 for my end docket, and the room key was in a safe. The microwave oven I was hoping for soon had my Corn Jack piping hot and I was ready for a hot shower and good long sleep. That sleep after an IBA ride needs no anaesthetic, but you sleep just as soundly as if you'd had one.
P.S. I did mention to Howard that it would be neat if the map of Australia could be moved left in the frame, as the slice of Indian Ocean is of less interest to us than the east coast, and perhaps even some of Victoria and maybe Tasmania at a pinch.
To arrive in the traditional 11:30 to 12:00 window I had to leave at 10:30 the previous night. As usual, the attempt to get useful sleep between 7:00 and 10:00 yielded little more than a short blackout and a lot of thinking about the preparation items potentially missed.
Not much to report in the way of roos. I saw two batches of 3 or 4, all about 2 feet tall (isn't that so much easier to visualise for non-carpenters than 60cm?) and they turned and hopped away as I approached. I did observe their ears doing that "rotating thing" which I reckon was their analysis of the "Rooverser" horn sound. Every other critter, furred or feathered, was seen heading away from the bike.
Fuel enroute was going to be a challenge in the early hours. I knew the Monto Puma opened at 4:00, which was my arrival time, but couldn't depend on it, so carried 5 litres. When I got there at 3:55, I parked at the bowser, but with no sign of life at 4:00, emptied the jerry can into the tank, drained my water storage out the back and headed off to top off the tank at Biloela's 24 hour United servo. Next stop was for breakfast in Dingo. The truck stop there is 24 hour and the bacon and egg feed is built for voracious truckies. As I've said before, my "go-to" breckie is a McMuffin and kofi, but the nearest I knew is in Emerald. I felt robbed when not too far up the road I found one in Blackwater. Obviously the little place is frequented by a significant number of miners, and of course, it's on the Capricorn Highway.
I rocked into Alpha with spare time to grab a few murals before Check-in, and Steve (Tackleberry) arrived a bit early to officiate. Not wanting to spend more time than necessary in the dark, I didn't stay for lunch (in any case, I was still dealing with the Truckies' Breakfast). The next planned refuel was Springsure, but once again I wasn't going to trust the advertised opening times on a Saturday afternoon, so filled up the tank and the jerry can in Emerald before heading south. That was a good move, since the only thing I could find of any use in Springsure was a main street mural.
On to the next stop, Moura, where I knew there was a water tower mural. After snapping that I figured I was in the right headspace to make it to Gayndah, which I had already included in my ride plan. I rang a couple of motels before I could get a room (wildly over-priced; he saw me coming!) and decided it seemed wise to fill up at the Puma rather than depend on Eidsvold for fuel (which again, proved prescient). While in there paying, I caught sight of something new to me, a Chicko Corn Jack, suitably crisp from being in the heater since goodness knows when. Always one for a culinary adventure I added it to the fuel bill and stowed it for "dinner", once again not trusting anything to be open foodwise in Gayndah.
Moura is the very essence of a mining town with a huge man-made hill towering over it from the east, and extending a few kilometres southwards paralleling the road to Theodore. There's a reasonably long tunnel under the mine and then the open road south. Theodore was deserted and my GPS agreed with the single sign that pointed to Cracow. However, the GPS totally refuses to navigate directly to Cracow, denying there is a road of any kind there. So I trusted the sign and headed out into the deep darkness. Eventually the mine appeared through the gloom on my left. When my old Dad worked there in the 1940s, it was called "The Golden Plateau" and he was required to continue working there rather than go to war since the gold was more important for the war effort than recruiting for the army a few miners left as skeleton staff. In 1949 I was conceived in that little town, but made my grand appearance in Mundubbera, inconveniencing Dad and Mum by having them drive the 130km of gravel in the Whippet because I elected a breach birth- beyond the Cracow Matron's pay-grade.
Passing through Cracow there were only two premises lit up- Fred Brophy's pub (he of tent-boxing fame) and a house garden extraordinarily illuminated with many Christmas lights! Thence on into the long dark ride to Eidsvold. About halfway to Gayndah I descried a spectral phenomenon ahead of me. Drawing closer, the mystery resolved itself into a Mazda 3 driving with no tail lights and just feeble parking lights at the front. It was making a surprisingly good speed considering the lack of forward vision, so I pulled in front and led the way with my spotties at about 95kph.
The Gayndah United was still open at 8:00 for my end docket, and the room key was in a safe. The microwave oven I was hoping for soon had my Corn Jack piping hot and I was ready for a hot shower and good long sleep. That sleep after an IBA ride needs no anaesthetic, but you sleep just as soundly as if you'd had one.
P.S. I did mention to Howard that it would be neat if the map of Australia could be moved left in the frame, as the slice of Indian Ocean is of less interest to us than the east coast, and perhaps even some of Victoria and maybe Tasmania at a pinch.
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