Home from the 2008 Ulysses AGM in Townsville.

The Inland Route.

Leaving Cairns by the Gillies Highway to Atherton should bring a tear to the eye of any twisties devotee, if only there weren’t so many people with the same idea. Early in the morning would be the best time to experience that magic road and upon getting to the top, break for coffee and return. I didn’t count the curves, corners and bends at the time, my hands being rather full, and the grey matter was working overtime but there must have been hundreds.

A yellow Triumph blew passed us at twice our speed and stops at Heales Lookout. Ken apologises to him for not having seen him coming up on us. He waves it away and gives chase to catch his mates. Just two kilometres off the main road there is a ‘curtain fig tree’ where one tree whilst harbouring a strangler fig, has fallen against another with the parasitic fig sending its aerial roots perpendicular to the ground to create a huge curtain and swallowing another tree in the process. Between Atherton and Ravenshoe the Triumph goes by again and with a wave, is gone!

The Tablelands seem cold after 27 degrees in the Cains winter and we could sware that the 270 kilometres to Greenvale is all downhill and probably is. Flocks of Apostlebirds scatter from the grassy verges as we rip by and I have to duck more than once.

Lead and Zinc mines in the area spew out bitumen hungry road trains of 50 metres or more with the rear trailer fish tailing from side to side. They do their level best to deposit us in the ditch and bury us in dust and gravel. One piece of learned road savvy was to follow the fully loaded ones, at distance, as the empty ones clear a path by pulling off for them. Constant radio contact between drivers facilitates this. At Blue Water Springs roadhouse the owner’s wife tells us to bide our time before overtaking the one that just passed as 14 kilometres further on is a good stretch of two lane blacktop and our revenge was sweat as we open up the bikes to get free of him. She said that they are governed to 90 kph, BUT! There is no acknowledgement of his embarrassment at being passed by a scooter and a ‘Shadow’ as we survive the buffeting and keep the throttle open to get well clear. A makeshift lunch at Charter Towers as we arrive in town at closing time and a Glaswegian with coffee in hand introduces us to his two monster dogs by whistling at his canvas covered ute across the road. The two push their heads out from under the canvas in instant but forlorn eagerness of his return from the coffee shop.

We take our chances that night with a ‘bush camp’ far enough from the road to sleep without road trains interference as the accommodation at Belyando Crossing has nothing to recommend it. One stops early in the morning to change a tyre or ten and the sounds of hammering and compressed air guns rouses us. The reward was a sunrise by Monet, or was it by Turner?

The appalling stench of road kill attacks our nostrils from there to Clermont and on to Emerald and I learn to terminate mid-breath if it is sensed for a millisecond.

Springsure, and the scenery alters again to barren rocky mountains very similar to the ones around Townsville. We take a ‘comfort stop’ just north of town in a picnic area occupied by four young men who claim to be serving time at the local detention centre. What a pretty place to be doing their time in and I tell them so. They could be the luckiest miscreants anywhere. However, we abandon their directions for an assent by motorcycle of the Minerva Hills after a few kilometres and come to the conclusion that they were just having a lend of us and press on to Rolleston. A solitary Bush Stone-curlew turns its head to witness, not a road train, but two motorcycles.

Taking the southerly route from Rolleston after a good nights sleep the quality of the “Developmental Road” pleasantly surprises us with fine bitumen as mountains start to appear in the south. The reason the fine road becomes clear as we are approaching the tourist Mecca of Carnarvon Gorge National Park. Everything slows down as the speed limit drops from 110kph to 80kph and we cross the cattle grid to enter a picturesque forested valley with flat top mountains in the distance greened by recent rains. At the gorge turnoff we stop and debate the distance of 90 kilometres return trip to see it. If only we had been sure of fuel supplies at Injune we could have gone out there but we’d be in deep poo if Injune had proved dry. We need not have worried ourselves though as we refill the thirsty tanks and vow to get to see Carnarvon Gorge on our next passing. A Wedge-tailed Eagle keeps pace with me at an even 100kph to alight on a dead tree and observe his rival on the road.

We pick up the strong scent of flowering wattles for mile after mile as we keep south to Roma and then eastwards towards Miles, through crop laden expanses on a chameleon highway that changes from customary black to red, grey, tan and even green and back again. The quality of it suffers though with the increase of traffic after a night in Miles, and despite the signs of 110kph it is much more comfortable at 90kph which give you the chance of picking a line through a minefield of patches, pot holes, and road train tracks. An audience of Galahs check our progress from a wire on high as we dodge and weave the road obstacles before us. Through Chinchilla and on to Dalby we feel like swapping our two-wheelers for four-by-four transport and the hospitality and conversation of a family member breaks the ride again to set us up for the last 200 clicks to Mount Tambourine and my wife excellent cooking. We’ve had too many pie, fish & chip and hamburger stops during the five days.

From the Northern Rivers of NSW we recorded 5000 kilometres in total and the spare front tyre is still strapped to the pinion seat behind me. The front rubber has done an amazing 20,000 ks so far and I thought I’d dump it in the Daintree forest to take on new grip. So, the scooter salesman was proved right, and that could be a first I think?

Paul Hargan & Ken Hankinson