Que Sera.


Those young roosters The Justice Crew have recently had a number one hit with their song ‘Que Sera’ (click here to check it out).  The words pretty much sum up our experience and feelings yesterday at the hospital with Joc.  They are:





At the end of the day
Some you win, some you don’t
So I’m glad that I’m here
With some friends that I know
Always there with a smile
Saying you’re not alone
Singing la la la la
Que sera

We’ve being feeling for old mate Joc-ularity ever since we helped load him on to the RFDS plane at Oak Valley. 
All of us at many times would look for him or listen out for his laugh, or look for his place at the table or around the fire.  A bit like grief we guess, a sense of someone not there when they should be. Anyway, it was great to see him and it has given us a sense of comfort in that he is getting looked after, a little closure on the episode but also thoughts of looking ahead and seeing him again in Wang, looking at the photos, watching the movie and recalling our experiences together.  And riding together again.

We stayed overnight in Hahndorf, just out of Adelaide in the hills and had great meal together at a German themed pub, drinking some Lowenbrau and eating some sauerkraut and wurst (German for sausage).  We didn’t have a big night so that in the morning we would not be feeling the wurst (ha, ha, dad joke!).  We had bantered around where we would head today and the end result was to head towards Wangaratta and see where we ended up.  If it was in Wang, over 800 kilometres away, then all the better.

We made an early start, before 8.00am, so sorry girls; the Hahndorf Chocolate shop was still closed.  We picked up the freeway at Mt Barker and started rolling out the kilometres.  We went down to Tailem Bend and then picked up the Mallee Highway, going towards Pinaroo (coffee and dimmies), the border and Ouyen.  At Ouyen we had a major issue.  We got to the Ouyen Bakery just as the last vanilla slice was sold!  Gary was heart-broken and had to console himself with a vanilla slice-type arrangement but with chocolate icing;
but it wasn’t the same.  Young love waitress explained that their snot blocks weren’t actually made in Ouyen
anymore, they were made in Pinaroo.  This helped, but he still trudged sadly back down the road to where the
bikes were parked… and was surprised and cheered up to realise that the shop we parked outside of actually sold Ouyen-made snot blocks!  His day was made as he licked the sticky icing and snot off his fingers
of his second slice for the day.

Off again to Manangatang, Swan Hill and down to Echuca, stopping at Struggle-town for more coffee and dimmies.  We were on the home run now, popping across to Shepparton for a final fuel stop and then on to rendezvous at the Glenrowan Service Centre just outside Wangaratta at about 6.15pm.  We had smashed out over 800 kilometres in a day. 
 
Que Sera, you gotta be strong.

The boys from the bush hit the big smoke.


Lake Gillies overnight was very cold. Not sure if we beat our previous record of freezing the dish water, but
we would have got close.  Lake Gillies morning was very beautiful, with clear skies again welcoming a beaming
sun over the horizon.  The salt lakes were damp with standing water in many places making for nice photos.  The sun also helped dry up our swags which were a bit damp form condensation and the cold air, and the fire was rekindled to help us warm us up and warm up Hooch’s coffee pots. 

Our plan today could see us going one of two ways.  We had decided that we should, if he was still there, go to Adelaide and visit Joc in the hospital.  If he had gone we would skip Adelaide and go across towards Mildura. We broke camp and went into Port Augusta for fuel and morning tea of coffee, flavoured milk and fried dim sims
(quite nice really), and hit the phones to confirm that Joc was still in hospital, and to find out which hospital he was in (thanks to one of our ‘sources’ who will remain anonymous for a tip), and to finish our set-up. As we wanted to make it a surprise we had sent out a couple of red herrings on text messages and Facebook; old mate is pretty wily and so we put some thought into this.  Once sorted out, we hit the road heading south to the big smoke (well, Adelaide is big compared to where we had been).  The wordsmith also managed to delete the homepage from the website and had to send an urgent message to our backroom IT expert for assistance.  Again we must say that we cannot do this without the support we get form our families.

 As we went south the country improved and as shown elsewhere in the farmlands we had travelled, South Oz is having a good year.  We stopped for a snack at Port Wakefield and with increasing traffic on the road and on the uhf we continued on down to Adelaide. We stopped at a servo to refuel and sort out our plan to get to the hospital.  Normally the car follows the bikes but as the car had the gps we swapped around.  The support boys did a great job, working between a map, a phone and the gps along with the street signs and their general sense of direction to get to the front of the hospital, which is on the edge of the CBD.  Parking was going to be a problem, but the bikes lucked some space next to some scooters right opposite the front of the hospital. 
The scooters really enjoyed chatting to the bigger bikes, flirting a little even with the strapping young country lads.  Finding parking for Max and Chuck would be harder.  We continued down north terrace a little further but it was looking fruitless so we cut a Ueey, helped by blocking manoeuvre by a bus.  We went back to the bikes and then around the block into what we later found out was Rundle Street.  We have been kissed on the head a few times this trip and so it was again that we found two parallel parks together with a 30 minute limit – right outside the snack bar! We dived in, packed the bag with essential items, got our ticket and then went to the front of the
hospital to gather together to go in.

Royal Adelaide is like many big city hospitals, complicated with many twists and turns as various buildings are built and re-built.  The instructions to Joc’s room were pretty straight-forward however, and we were soon in the lift going up to the 6thfloor where he was.  In the lift we sang elevator music and rehearsed our plan. Brad would walk in by himself and tell Joc that he had had a blue with us, cracked it and left us, determined to come to delaide to see his old mate;  we had dropped him like a stone and gone for home.  Once this was on, we would burst in with a big hurrah.  The lift stopped and we prepared to get out.  As the doors opened the surprise was on us as well as Joc; there he was, sitting on a couch in an alcove directly opposite the lift, talking on the  phone!  It could not have been scripted better.   

Whoops and yells and smiles all round, we gathered around him to shake his hand and share our stories. 
He had a massive smile on his dial, which was looking a little thinner than when we last saw him, and a tube ran out from under his shirt into a  triple-interceptor suction machine tackle box; this was draining fluid from his still  collapsed lung.  Otherwise he was ok, still a bit stiff and sore and in need of a massage.  He was on oxygen most of the day due to his reduced lung capacity.  He pulled up his shirt and showed us a ripper bruise on his hip along his trouser line.  His theory on the seven broken ribs and the lung damage was that he had landed on his uhf radio which was in a chest pocket of his jacket.  This had pushed into him, doing the damage.  
The other good news was that he had, after several days, managed to push out a ripper poo!  This news was
greeted with cheers as we understand the importance of a good, regular poo.

Of course we took him some essential items.  Firstly we had found a way to take in some beers so we all enjoyed a can of west end draught.  We also had a bit of a rebuild kit for him, which included a new rib bone
and a good second-hand lung.  We would give these to the surgeon to install later in the week.  We would have done it ourselves but we didn’t really have time there and then.  We also had a few TTT stickers for him to distribute.  We spent about an hour with him before it was time to leave.  We accompanied him back to his room, a 6 bed ward with several old blokes in various stages of decline towards death. It was a depressing place and it tugged at us that we had to leave him here.  If they had said ‘go’ there and then we would have all been
away.

We said our tut-taas and made our way out of the hospital.  By now it was around 5.00pm.  We were in the centre of a capital city on a Friday afternoon and still had to get out of town to Hahndorf.  On these trips at this time we are normally looking for a camp site in the desert.  The bikes said see-ya to their new city friends (I think Gary’s Yamaha got a phone-number!).  We had overstayed our time in the car park and no surprise, Adelaide City Council issued us with a small reminder of our time in Rundle Street.  It was  only $46 but it annoyed us, even if they are doing their jobs.  We will take a bit of issue with them.  Traffic was tough as we pulled out and
away, moving steadily towards the base of the Adelaide where Max pulled like a schoolboy to get Chuck and the following bikes up the steep hills, getting us to Hahndorf by 6.30.  We stayed in a couple of cabins with shower, toilet, ceiling, carpet and beds.  This was hard to adapt to after our previous nights’accommodation at Lake
Gillies, which had a toilet of a shovel and bum-wipes, a ceiling of stars, a carpet of sand and our comfy swags. 
You can’t beat the bush life can you!

Looking towards home.

We were all up and about early today; with the wind easing for the morning we set out in ones and twos to explore.  The Jetty was popular, as were the towering sand dunes that overshadowed the town from the southwest.  The agreed meeting spot was the small café, where we gathered at 8.30 for coffee and toasted sandwiches.  The town had been boasting of whales in the bay (30 here, 170 at Head of The Bight) and glimpses of the southern right version that frequents this area were seen to the northeast.  These were mainly spouts of water and air out of blowholes with the occasional fin or tail.  A boat set off from the jetty with a group of happy whale watchers aboard including John Lindner, who knew some people in the cemetery at Wangaratta; he was camping next to us.

We set off mid to late morning after awarding Brocky a pink Bandana in recognition of his creative skills with a camera.  We again moved up to the Eyre Highway and went further east, stopping at Penong for fuel and then a nice lunch at Ceduna Foreshore Hotel Motel.  We all had fish after several days of a mainly meat diet. We rang Joc to make sure that he was ok and to check on how his hospital food was going.  He was still struggling to get movement where he needed it but was otherwise in good spirits.

Out onto the Eyre again and we continued on.  Our target for the evening was to camp at Lake Gillies, still a few hundred kilometres away as we set off after 2.00pm.  They day was sunny and warm, and many bugs came out to splat themselves against visors and windscreen.  We were lucky not to meet too many lizards driving Hi-ace vans with small trailers at 85 kilometres an hour.  This would have held up progress considerably.  Apparently if you can get a good 253 or 308 Holden motor you can speed them up.

We motored on and despite getting a little split up between the Max and the bikes we eventually regrouped at Kimba.  We remember Kimba for a few things, not the least being that it is the road to Buckleboo, not to be confused with Buckrabanyule.  About 20 kilometres out we landed in the Lake Gillies Conservation Reserve at a Brock secret camping site.  Although it was on dark and we needed to dodge a few kangas on the road in (the dodging was mostly successful except for the big fella that had his tail clipped by Brad when the bike’s ABS thwarted his braking efforts), we could see that it was an excellent site on the shores of a salt lake.  We set up camp, lit the fire and enjoyed a great mixed grill and salad for tea, along with some new good and quality beer that we had found in Ceduna.

Completing a crossing of the Nullarbor.

The Nullarbor sunrise burst on to us with a blaze of colour, the treeless, flat horizon opening us up to its full force.  It was a slow morning as we took advantage of the mobile coverage again, and caught up with family, friends and old mate, Joc.  He still hadn’t poo’d.  Oh well, the doctors would sort that out.  We enjoyed omelettes for breakfast made from eggs from the Nullarbor; Carl whipped these up and will be doing so regularly at home from now on.

We had another look around Cook, all thinking that it would be nice to spend a bit more time here as there was a lot of history as well as the railway action.  There is always a bit of gunzel in every boy; the previous evening we gathered to put coins on the rail for the trains to run over again, as we had done a year or two ago at Kingoonya.  We met up with Caretakers Ian and Regina again and thanked them for their hospitality and support; Ian had given us a map and a briefing on some caves in the area so we set off down the ‘Cook Highway’ to check them out.

Cook Highway is the local name for the road across the plain to Nullarbor Roadhouse; we think there is actually a Cook Highway elsewhere in Australia.  On this road south of Cook there were no trees whatsoever, unlike to the north.  Luckily we had the map that Ian and Regina made as we would not have found the great caves we visited.  The first was entered by a small hole; inside it opened up into a cavern.  The second ‘cave’, known as Knowles Cave, was a cavern that had fallen in.  We explored the area, looking at the local birds, watching out for wriggly sticks and enjoying some fossicking for fossils which were abundant in the area.  We tucked in to ham and salad wraps for lunch as our bread was pretty much shot by now.

On down to Nullarbor Roadhouse we went and we found it to be an expensive and grumpy place.  The fuel was cheaper by 35 cents a litre down the road at Nundroo and our expectations on stocking up on some items were dashed as they had stuff all.  We bought expensive bread and milk and went out on to the Eyre Highway to get to Fowler’s Bay, our home for the night.

A quickish trip ended in Fowlers Bay, a beautiful and historic spot.  All up we covered 300 kilometres for the day, and by getting to Fowlers, completed a crossing of the Nullarbor Plain – from north to south!  That’s one that not a lot of people can hang their hat on.  We got a couple of campsites in the Fowlers Bay Caravan Park and pitched our swags in various places, all trying to get out of the consistent and pestering wind coming off the ocean.  We used the camp kitchen to eat some steaks cooked up by Stevie Larke, whose culinary skills are unquestionable.  We finished the night comparing notes with the many grey nomads who were present and eager to share stories with us, of their adventures and ideas.

The show must go on…

Waking at the Oak Valley Airport Hilton, we compared notes on the day before.  Old Mate Joc had been shipped out on the Flying Doctors plane and we were missing him straight away.  We tried to replace him by naming the RFDS Bear ‘Jock’, but it just wasn’t the same.  The teddy bear was better looking!  We also compared notes on the eerie night that we had experienced at the airport.  Several of the local dingos gathered and serenaded us with their eerie howls, and the lights stayed on the air strip all night.  There was just a weird feeling in the air, a bit like when the Kadaicha Man comes around.

We dicked around a bit in the morning after yesterday’s massive effort; a few visitors turned up from Oak Valley (it’s just that nice type of place!) and a light plane came in to drop workers off.  Eventually we pushed off back up past our friends at Oak Valley to the Vokes Hill - Cook Road that we had come down yesterday.  The aim was to get to Nullarbor Roadhouse and then camp in the bush down there.

Turning south we bashed through some sandhills (again!) and then some very rocky country as we transitioned from the Great Victoria Desert to the Nullarbor Plain.  We made fairly slow time and got mucked up a bit with the bikes whipping on ahead after a bit of bad advice about distance from some snoozers in a 200 series Land Cruiser Sahara (riding in that, they are probably out of touch with reality).  We all gathered together eventually for lunch and checked the scenery and the map and confirmed: we the Trekkers had reached the Nullarbor Plain.

Nullarbor is latin for ‘no trees’ ( nul – no, arbour – trees).  And there weren’t a lot.  In this section north of Cook there were a few trees, mainly in the lower gullies (if you could call them that), with lots of flowers in these areas, particularly Sturt’s desert pea.  The other thing that was there in abundance was rocks.  There was no shortage of rocks; big, small, all hard.  Brad picked up the first flat tyre of the trip on this rock-strewn, barren plain.  We pushed on as the sun went down to our right as we travelled south.  We decided to check out Cook as a place to camp; as is the TTT tradition, it was a good move.

Cook is a railway town, sitting at a strategic point on the trans-Australian railway.  In previous days it was a thriving town with hundreds of people living and working here; the school taught 95 children a year.  All this was to support the railway.  When the change was made from timber to concrete sleepers, all this changed.  The people weren’t needed and left, and now the town is pretty much owned by a company and used for re-fuelling trains and changing drivers as they complete their shifts.  It was late in the day, we met with one of the town caretakers, Regina, who was more than helpful in setting us in ‘Camp Cook’.  Again we received a fantastic welcome from people in the bush.

The other great thing about Cook was that it was the first time for many days that we had mobile coverage, so we made use of that to catch up with family and friends again.  It was nice to hear their voices, and to know that nothing untoward had happened to any of our loved ones.  We also got the news on our TTT son Joc when Brad gave him a call.  The news wasn’t great.  Seven broken ribs, lung damage that meant a drain was placed in, taking 450 millilitres of fluid out, general soreness and also he couldn’t poo (actually, this last one made us laugh!)  We again gathered together to have a beer and toast Joc, and to be happy together that he was in good hands at the hospital in Adelaide.  A late-ish evening saw us hunkered down out of the old Nullarbor wind, listening to the passing and stopping 1.8 kilometre long freight trains.

Isn't ironic...don't you think...a little too ironic, I really do think!

So sung Alainis Morrisette, and so did our day go.

Another clear cold night on the side of the Vokes Hill –Cook Road; extra clothing was needed in the swags. 
As the morning broke and the sun neared the horizon the alarm clock birds were starting their normal broadcast of the latest news, we heard sounds that we didn’t want to hear.  Joc, who had done his best to ride 60 kilometres in tough conditions the previous day, was paying the price.  The pain from his injuries from the stack two days previous had caught up; he tried for half an hour to get out of his swag but couldn’t without help. When out, his self-diagnosis wasn’t good; he was sure of at least two broken ribs and thought maybe lung damage.  Along with this he had loss of feeling in leg and numbness in his shoulder.  He decided that he couldn’t continue to ride, and that he needed to get professional medical help.  It was time to make the call.

The decision was made to put his bike on the D-Max Ute and then ring 000 to seek assistance.  As we were in a significantly remote location it wasn’t going to be easy; we looked at the map and saw that the closest airport was Oak Valley, which we were heading for anyway due to fuel issues. The 000 call was made and it took some time to describe where we were and what the issues were.  The 000 and ambulance system are great for suburbia but maybe not so hot for a place well off the grid.  In the end the message got through and we packed up and headed for Oak Valley, some 140 kilometres away.  Packing in itself was a mighty task as we had to load his BMW on the ute and then pack around it.

The riding southbound in the morning was fast and undulating, in spectacular ever-changing scenery. The long swales allowed the riders to build up speed to get over the relatively straight sandhills that we were running across.  We came across a well and a Len Beadell plaque and Joc was travelling relatively comfortably in the front of the D Max.   All was pretty good in the world until we came to another road block.  We came to an intersecting road and a road closed sign on the track that we were following.  The intersecting road was sign-posted as ‘BMR 3’ and interestingly was not on any of the maps that we had.  The sign said to go west to get to Cook, so we headed out.

The new road was immediately better for fast travel, while not really testing the technical skills of the riders. 
The Trekkers pushed the speeds up and made a bee line west, looking for the turn to the south.  On the GPS
we had no road and so were pushing into un-mapped territory again. Eventually it was ‘left turn Clive’ after a couple of lock-ups and we started heading south.  It was a clean, wide well-made road and we made good time. 
At around 12.45pm we got to a site with some tanks and other abandoned infrastructure, about 10 kilometres from the turn-off to Oak Valley.  We had a snack and then rang 000 again as we had not had an update.  After
few false starts we connected with Lisa who was very helpful.  The mail was that there was an RN at Oak Valley who had been alerted to our situation and was waiting for us to further assess Joc and make some calls in
conjunction with the RFDS.  Back on the road, we went on.

Oak Valley is marked on the map as a ‘closed community’ so we were unsure of what we would meet there, other than knowing that they had been tee’ d up by the RFDS for medical assistance and Robin from
Maralinga for fuel.  We got to the tee intersection to turn into the community and were discussing the approach on the UHF when we got a call from the office.  The message was ‘come on in’.

To say that we got a good reception and support from Nat and Christina at Oak Valley would be an understatement.  Nat is employed with her partner Andrew to manage the operations of the  community. Nat met us and directed us to the clinic where Christina received Joc and began to assess his medical condition. The rest of the team checked out the work of the local artists and had a bit of a cultural experience. Best of all were the many Maralinga tjanjara youngsters who Nat encouraged to come out and look at the bikes and sit on them and get a TTT sticker.  Any onlooker would be unsure as to who was having the most fun, the Trekkers or the kids.  We were also able to fill up with fuel at the reasonable price of $2.00 a litre, and have a nice cup of coffee. 
The word had come through that Joc’s condition was serious enough to fly him out with the RFDS, which we all found to be particularly ironic given that we are on a fund-raising mission for the RFDS.  Initially it was to be to go to Ceduna but later it was Adelaide.  We assessed our plans and decided that after we saw him off we would continue to our original destination of the coast at Nullarbor Roadhouse.

Winding up our time at Oak Valley we farewelled Nat and Andrew and then followed the Oak Valley Ambulance out of town to the airport (ironically Joc the Paramedic had to ride in the ambulance…on the stretcher!).  As we approached in the darkening light we could see the plane circling and landing. We were met by an RFDS pilot and nurse. The irony continued with this in two ways.  Angelique the RFDS Nurse had actually met us in the Foodland car park in Port Augusta when we stocked up supplies.  She had approached us with her son out of her interest in motor bikes and we had chatted about our visit to the RFDS base that day and our fundraising efforts.  Of Austrian origins, she had ridden motorbikes across several countries and continents, including from Austria to Australia on a BMW R100.  We felt a little soft in her presence.  The second piece of irony here was that the plane that Joc was going into was the one that we had looked at in Port Augusta during our tour of the facilities several days before.

Joc was packed up and packed into the Flying Doctors plane with our assistance, best wishes and with our sorrow, both at his situation and his leaving us at this point.  We had enjoyed his laughter and JOCularity, and his many practical jokes (including a ripper involving silly string just minutes before he was put in the ambulance).  As we sat around the campfire thinking back on our adventures we recalled his admirable stubbornness, his skills on a motorbike and his absolute courage and perseverance to try to stay with us despite his injuries.  Inside we all felt that he displayed qualities that we would all aspire to be able to display ourselves in similar circumstances.

After seeing Joc safely packed and off into the sparkling night sky we set up our camp at the Oak Valley Airport under a rain collection shed.  The fire was warm and Sharon’s spag bol filled our bellies, washed down with goon and port, but both in the discussion and in our silences we thought of Joc.

Reaching a high point and hoping to avoid a low.

Overnight clear skies prevailed and we shivered in our swags.  Ice formed on the top of the fridges and froze the wet mugs we had washed and left on the table.  Reports came in of some jets flying past overnight low and fast, and at 6.00am some poor souls flew past high up in passenger jets returning from holidays in cheap destinations in Asia.  We looked up and smiled.  This wasn't a holiday, this was an adventure.

Everyone was up and working to throw off the cold and enjoy the rising sun in the clear sky.  Joc got up and we gathered to hear his prognosis. Not needing Doctor Google as he is a Paramedic, he had worked out that he had probably broken some ribs and damaged his shoulder, along with general soreness.  However, he was going to ride on.  Award ceremony was held, and Joc got the day’s award for having the biggest spill.  He was issued with new glasses so he could see the trees before he hit them, an RFDS Nurse Teddy Bear that the Flying Doctors had dropped off overnight to treat him and to cuddle if he felt sad and a blue bandana, as that was the colour he would end up when the bruising came out.

Joc mounted up (with difficulty) and we rode.  We didn’t go far before another issue was noticed.  His red BMW 800GS Adventurer was a bit worse for wear.  An examination showed that there was a bend in the rear sub-frame and the rear shock absorber had leaked out its oil, meaning the back bounced up and down like a pogo stick.  Joc shrugged this off as well and still he continued on.  It was 30 kilometres from our camp to Vokes Hill Corner, our first objective.  We made it around 11.30 and settled to enjoy the serenity.  Here we would turn off to the south on the road to Cook and Nullabor and leave the Anne Beadell behind.

A group of four decided to continue on in our quest to reach the famed Vokes Hill.  We went further west along the highway and then north to the spot that was showing on the GPS.  The track grew smaller and twisting, with sandhills presenting challenges to the crew in the D Max.  The land gradually rose and we looked about in eager anticipation of seeing the mythical hill.  Twisting and turning the arrow on the GPS came closer and closer to the mark on the map and as we came through the scrub we saw the carpark of our objective…with a car parked there already.  Here in the middle of nowhere was a young couple already enjoying the spot.  They welcomed us as we tumbled out of the ute and walked the last metres to the top.  Although not overwhelming the view was nonetheless splendid and well worth the efforts made by all the team to get there. In recognition of the three who didn’t come to the top of the hill we took their helmets and had a small ceremony to mark this turning point of our trek.  From here we were heading home.

Back at Vokes Hill Corner we lunched and gathered our thoughts.  It was late in the afternoon but we would continue south now on the road to Cook until 4.30.  The track changed now as we started going across the line of the sandhills rather than parallel.  It reminded us of previous tracks such as Goog’s or the road between Emu
and Maralinga. The bikes started doing it hard in the soft sand while the D Max and Monster Chuck covered the
ground fairly easy, albeit selecting 4wd for the first time in the trip.  We struggled to get far in the soft conditions, eventually calling it a day and setting up camp in a swale about 25 kilometres south of Vokes Hill Corner. 
It proved to be a good choice as it gave us an early finish to the day and the opportunity to enjoy the serenity and the beef ragu; a good bunch of blokes enjoying good goon. Concern for Joc was high as we drifted off to bed to watch the stars above.  We had to lift him off his bike and help him out of his clothes and he went to
bed early to try and recover enough to continue

A day of twists and turns and ups…and downs.

Day 5 started under cloudy skies, obscuring the sunrise that we enjoy so much out here in the bush. Continental breakfast was followed by a presentation to Steve Larke by Carl for his dedication to the team this trip, driving, preparing meals and really pitching in.

Finishing short of Emu Fields and its campsite the day before, we first moved off to visit the sites of the two atomic test bombs that were detonated by the Poms here in the early 50’s.  After that we visited the airfield and clay pan for a blast and a clean out of the pipes. The red Beemers perfomed very well. From here our target was Vokes Hill, which was an estimated 225 kilometres away.  The previous day we pushed out 193k's but we were anticipating better track conditions today.

Track conditions did change with a run through some sandy country with soft conditions and lots of twists and turns.  The boys on the bikes enjoyed this with lots of challenges and quick thinking required. There were plenty of ‘offs’ when the turn just wasn’t going to be made so the only option was to go straight. An off from Carl right in front of the team precipitated a stop for lunch which today was a barbeque featuring Mick Oxenham snags and burgers.

The track improved and the D-Max even managed to get out of second gear and into third and even fourth a bit. 
The country continued to change subtly with us as we tracked through the swales of sandhills that were running east to west and converging and breaking.  We entered spinifex country for the first time with large rings and blobs of the grass scattering the country and increasing in numbers as we continued west. Evidence of wild camels was everywhere and eventually Brocky and Gary actually spotted one walking down the middle of the
track.

It became apparent as we continued on that we might not get to Vokes Hill today even as the track conditions continued to improve.  The track straightened and the ruts and corrugations lessened and our speeds increased. The ‘offs’ reduced but then we learnt of someone having a one big off; something that we all feared may happen but hoped against.  In the D-Max Ferg and Steve came across Carl and Joc on the side of the
road.  As they hopped out it was apparent that there had been an event.  Joc had hit the deck hard as a tree he skimmed past had flipped his handlebar around as he sped past it.  This caused him to highside and go to ground on the sandy track fairly hard.  He got up and and continued on, in obvious pain and discomfort as we
continued on behind in support.  We pushed on to finish with our camp established at the eastern edge of the
interestingly named ‘Unnamed Conservation Park’.  This was 30 kilometres from our target of Vokes Hill, but acceptable given that Joc was starting to feel the effects of his big hit. He struggled off his bike and we gathered to support him with strapping to his ribs which were giving him trouble, along with his shoulder which was also sore.  

We were happy to consider, as he and Carl described the incident, that he wasn’t hurt more badly but also concerned for his condition and obvious pain. He took an early bed, struggling to get into his swag, and we gathered to eat Sharon’s chicken tikka masala with rice and Steve’s hand-crafted flat breads.  
 
The night was clear but our minds were clouded with concern for Joc and how he would be in the morning. 
As one or two drifted off, the evening discussion group were entranced by the Goon Fairy and discussed our situation, considering the life habits of bull camels, and  turning to watch a brilliant display of a meteorite or space debris spotted by Brocky burning up in the sky.  We were hoping that Joc the Joker hadn’t burnt out today.

A hard, dusty and shaky day on the Anne Beadell.

 A very early start today as a smattering of rain roused us in our swags around 4.15am.  A couple of hardy souls decided to stay up and shoot the breeze at this inglorious time, much to the chagrin of the many still in swags. 
Brad honoured Len Beadell, the man who surveyed and cut this track from the red dirt and dust, by changing his rear tyre several times; Len used to spend his nights mending the tyres he spiked as he bashed through the bush in his Landrover.  Our campsite and along the track in general has a very healthy covering of flowers which made it very pretty however a cloudy start to the day meant not a lot of great morning photos.

We continued on with the aim of getting to Emu Camp Grounds; this target was about 220 kilometres away. 
This was an aim well short of our previous days tallies but it was of course, riding  on the Anne Beadell.  There are two ways to do the Anne Beadell, hard and harder.  General impressions and observations were that once we were in Tallaringa Conservation Park, where the real tough stuff starts, the track was a little better than last year, but that from Tallaringa Well it was tougher. Generally though having had the experience of the previous year the bikes were travelling faster despite the conditions.  No one fell off their bikes but most went off the track, finding a way straight through and pulling up or re-joining the track further on. 

Those of us who had been on the trek the previous year had many memories flooding back when we went past the site of last year’s trailer disaster.  The tyre that we used to prop up old Chuck was still on the side of the road and a few tracks in and out of the spot but otherwise evidence of our days there fixing the trailer were eroded away.  We paused and nodded but continued on.

For the D-Max and trailer it was still very hard, and our target was not achieved.  We fell short about 20 kilometres from Emu, camping in the lee swale of a nice sandhill, just off the track.  We again enjoyed an excellent pre-cooked meal of chilli con carne. A tally of damage for the day was low and heartening; no vehicle, trailer  or bike damage and only a leaking bottle of port and jar of pickles in one of the tubs.  All in all not a bad result.

Our roadside camp proved serviceable; a bit of road noise and train noise, mostly drowned by a bit of snoring. 
A little cold overnight; most of us wore trakkies or thermals in our swags.  Uncle Gary received an award for his efforts in leaving the dipstick out of the Yamaha after checking the oil in the morning and generally looking the closest of us all in the free sunglasses we got from the pub at Port Augusta.

Back out onto the Stuart Highway and a clear day meant cold conditions for the riders with a strengthening tail/side wind.  In the car it was a Neil Young sort of morning so as we pulled on up to Pimba we listened to him and saw out his greatest hits.  At Pimba we re-fuelled bikes and warmed up people; the highlight was the coffee.  You paid the usual amount of money and they gave you a cup and you made your own.

From Pimba we continued to Glendambo for lunch and more fuel; the sky clouded but also opened up as the scrub gave way to intermittent open plains.  Traffic was fair; a mix of trucks and grey nomads.  On the horizon as we continued on to Coober Pedy several storms brewed, looking ominous and wet.  Brad and Jock got a bit of a drenching but the rest of us came through pretty well.

At Coober we spent over $600 on fuel as we filled all vehicles and the 8 jerry cans of extra fuel that we are carrying to get to Nullarbor via the Anne Beadell.  It was getting late and the sun was dropping so we needed to decide to either stay in Coober or push on out the Anne Beadell.  We decided to push further with an advance party moving out to find a campsite while the ute and Carl went to finish the shopping. The forward scouts found a good camping spot and lit the fire and the chuck wagon followed on, albeit after dark. All hands on deck to set up swags and peel the spuds to go with Cynthia’s excellent lamb stew.  The goon fairy slipped through the group after a couple of rounds of beers and then we were all suddenly surprised by a streaker of all things!  Must have been the long day in the saddle, over 570 kilometres covered.