bikepacking

5 May 2024

Time flies when you’re having fun

david.j.mccourt Uncategorized adventure, Bangladesh, Bike touring, bikepacking, Cycle Touring, India, Indonesia, Malaysia, Nepal, Pakistan, south asia, southeast asia, Thailand

As it turns out, maintaining a blog about a seemingly infinite array of daily experiences whilst cycling around the world is more work than I thought. It’s hard to believe that my last post is about my time in Java and that I am now hurtling through the edge of the Kazakh Steppe on a train from Almaty.

Getting off the train in the town of Шу (Shu) which I found out later was the marijuana capital of Kazakhstan

Scratch that last part – as I pick up this blog post again for the first time almost six months after my train ride in Kazakhstan. I am now sitting in the living room of my host’s home on the edge of village somewhere in the eastern part of the Taurus Mountains in central Türkiye. I’ve been here for a couple of days waiting out a continuous torrent of rain. I felt like a frozen drowned rat when I came upon the entrance of a hydroelectric plant and was welcomed into a warm office by a pair of security guards flanked by three German Shepherds. The friendly men blasted their heater, brought me lots of hot çay (tea) and even let me borrow a dry jacket whilst mine dripped water onto the floor.

As the saying goes, time flies when you’re having fun (mostly). Unsurprisingly, the expedition has not been all sunshine and roses. I have faced many challenges along the way and I am sure I will face many more before I get to the finish line. See: recent events – one of my coldest days because of the freezing rain despite it being late spring.

The heat and humidity of South East Asia did not abate in South Asia. Cycling through the plains of North India during the height of summer was almost unbearable. I experienced daily temperatures exceeding 35°C with a relative humidity of 70%+. It was nothing short of killer.

It was so hot and humid in Kolkata that I’m 99% confident my dripping sweat (effectively sea water) killed my DSLR camera as it rested against my soaking wet t-shirt. Fortunately, I was in a big city and whilst the many camera repair shops I visited quoted prices that exceeded the cost of the camera I was able to find a second hand replacement.

Rest in peace my dear Canon 60D. We’ve been on many an adventure together, I’m sorry I didn’t treat you better but I will never cease to appreciate the amazing moments you helped me capture over the years.

I’ve um’d and ah’d many times about whether to continue to try to update this blog in chronological order. However I’ve come to realise that I will never catch up to where I am today, the downside of which is that some of the experiences and memories of recent times will fade as I cast my mind back six months.

So Dear Reader, I think a bit of a recap is in order. I do plan to expand upon my experiences but for now I shall try my best to get you up to speed. I apologise for the lengthy break between posts. My last update described my time in Central Java.

From Java I opted to take a ferry to the huge island of Sumatra. I was originally thinking about going straight to Singapore from Jakarta but the more I heard about Sumatra the more I felt drawn to explore it. I’d heard it described as the Wild West of Indonesia, untouched jungles filled with tigers and stories of bandits waiting around every corner to rob hapless bike tourists like myself.

A ‘Rumiah Gadang’ traditional house in Sumatra

Whilst nowhere near as densely populated as Java, the parts of Sumatra I travelled through did not prove to be that wild. I did pass through some stunning jungle national parks but sadly large swaths of the native vegetation have been cleared to make way for ugly palm oil plantations and oil fields. On the plus side, I didn’t encounter any of those pesky bandits either. In fact, I experienced the opposite, the people of Sumatra continued the Indonesian trend of being incredibly friendly, kind and generous. They also continued to be obsessed with selfies (little did I know that the people of Bangladesh would take all of these qualities to a whole new level).

I would have loved to have cycled all the way to Medan on the northwest tip of Sumatra but by this point I’d spent almost three months in Indonesia and had a rough plan to get over the Himalayas and Pamir Mountains before winter later in the year.

I got as far up as the city of Padang before cutting a route across the centre of the island to finish in Dumai. It seemed Indonesia did not want to let me go easily, I succumbed to my first bout of bad belly (plenty more to come on this front) three days before I was due to leave the country. With over 300km to go, I experienced almost crippling stomach cramps and it was a real race against time to get to Dumai before my visa expired.

Fortunately I made the deadline and took the high speed ferry across the Malacca Strait to the World Heritage Malaysian city of Melaka. Taking the ferry proved to be a breeze with my bicycle. It was infinitely better than the hassle of breaking the bike down into a box to travel by plane. My stomach problems did not let up however and I bunkered down in a lovely hostel for a full five days before feeling strong enough to continue onto Kuala Lumpur.

Great to see friends in KL – cheers Viji!

I had a fantastic few days in KL with some old friends. Many thanks again to Viji, Kala, Arjun & Rohan for having me stay with you. It was exactly what I needed after a challenging end to Indonesia. From KL I headed north into the Cameron Highlands and then onto the foodie heaven that is Penang before cutting a line east across the top of peninsular Malaysia through some amazing jungle scenery where I encountered some wild elephants and the biggest spider I’ve ever seen.

I spent a few days on the Perhentian Islands including doing some super cheap scuba diving before crossing into Thailand and country number four. I was keen to explore the deep south of Thailand before taking a bit of time out to relax on some of the famous islands off the west coast. I rejoined the mainland in Krabi Province and from there I made a beeline for Bangkok.

I booked a flight from Bangkok to Dhaka – the capital of Bangladesh. I would have loved to have cycled through Myanmar but it currently is and has been in civil war for the best part of 75 years with a few small windows of stability. I looked at the map, saw Bangladesh and asked myself “When is the next time I will get a chance to visit Bangladesh?”. Talk about a baptism by fire. Dhaka is still the most hectic, congested and dirty city I encountered during my time in South Asia. As hinted earlier however, the people of Bangladesh proved to be another level of friendly, kind and helpful.

After an Indian visa mishap (long story short I could not cross by land into India with my eVisa) I had to book one more flight from Dhaka to Kolkata. I was able to spend 2 weeks cycling around north east Bangladesh and it still shines as one of the most unexpectedly lovely parts of the trip.

India – ah India. A land of contrasts and paradoxes. I look back on my time in India with a strange mix of love and something bordering on loathing but with an overarching sense of fondness. India is humanity turned up to maximum volume, a sensory overload, smells, sights and tastes I’ll never forget. Even now I am salivating as I think about all of the amazing meals I had – breakfast, lunch and dinner were my favourite parts of every day (except for the occasional heavenly cooling relief of air conditioning).

One of countless characters with a top notch moustache I’ve met along the way

I cycled from Kolkata to Kathmandu, Nepal. I accidentally smuggled myself across the Nepalese border before returning to India to find the seemingly camouflaged Indian passport office. In Nepal I fulfilled my dream of cycling the epic Annapurna Circuit. I had cooked up said dream eight years earlier when I hiked the circuit and encountered a grizzly cyclist from Germany on a bamboo bicycle.

I’d almost forgotten just how epic Nepal was

I returned to India and continued across the Gangetic Plain to Delhi passing through magnificent cities and towns filled to the brim with history, monuments and temples. I took a short break from the expedition to meet my parents who were on another adventure of their own in Europe. It was exactly what I needed after experiencing a mental lull and finding myself dearly missing family and friends from home.

Upon my return to India I was racing against the clock to enter China before my Chinese visa expired. I travelled to the northwest and encountered some of the most spectacular scenery of the trip. It was during this period that I found myself riding with another cyclist for the first time since my friend Simon in South Australia a year before. As it turned out Devan was from Indonesia and was cycling to Mecca in Saudi Arabia to complete the Haj pilgrimage. It was a really fun step change from cycling solo and we ended up riding together for nearly a month.

Devan getting a photo with an Indian border guard in Punjab

Himachal Pradresh, Ladakh and Jammu & Kashmir blew my mind. I didn’t have nearly enough time in this region but all the more reason to hopefully return one day. Heading back south to the famous state of Punjab I finally crossed into Pakistan. My Pakistani friend Hasham, had lined up several news channel interviews. Devan and I found ourselves on a whirlwind media tour including a live TV appearance.

The people of Pakistan lived up to their famous hospitality with countless free meals, bags of fruit, water and sweets. Devan and I parted ways in the capital of Islamabad as he was headed for Afghanistan or Iran depending on his visa success and I was going north to China.

The Karakoram Highway delivering the goods

I took on the famous Karakoram Highway with more mind blowing mountain scenery. I absolutely adore how mountains across the world have their own character. They have always instilled in me a sense of wonder and the Karakoram was no exception.

The Pakistan/China border crossing near Khunjerab Pass

Unfortunately I experienced more stomach problems and I found myself feeling super weak and throwing up directly from the saddle on the side of the road. To my dismay this round has continued to plague me in one form or another right up until today. More on this and the rest of the recap in my next post. Thanks for reading!

14 July 2023

Central Java

david.j.mccourt Indonesia adventure, Bike touring, bikepacking, Cycle Touring, Indonesia, java

I met Marwan on the outskirts of Yogyakarta. Yogya (pronounced D’jogd’ja) is internationally famous for its proximity to some World Heritage Listed Buddhist temples, a little ironic given that there are almost no Buddhists living there today.

Indonesia is also home to the world’s largest Muslim population with over 85% of the country’s 280 million practising Islam. I was excited to meet the people of Java and to understand how life here differed from the Hindu majority Balinese.

Marwan gave me a cycling tour of the other temples closer to town and Yogya’s main sights. After the tour we thankfully escaped the noise and congestion of the city to his parents home in a small village outside the centre.

Marwan’s father welcomed me with a big toothy grin. I enjoyed a refreshing ‘mandi’, a bath using a small bucket to pour water over myself. We went for a walk around the village and became ‘trapped’ at a neighbourhood warung when the heavens opened. It poured hard with lots of thunder and lightning. It was lovely to watch from the shelter of the restaurant.

The following day, we visited the well restored ruins of Borobudur via motorcycle. It was amazing but damn expensive with a $25 entry fee. This was also one of the few times I would see any foreigners in Java (except for Jakarta).

The next day I said goodbye and another Federal member cycled with me up to the town of Temmangung. Little did I know that I would be joined by about 50 Federal cyclists who had ridden from the city of Solo (Surakarta) that morning.

Bakso Mie Ayam (Meatball noodle soup with chicken) – a favourite

It was great to see so much enthusiasm for bike touring. There were countless selfies, cups of tea and chats that lasted well into the night. It seemed that the same folk who had been talking well into the wee hours were also the first up at the crack of dawn. I wondered if these guys ever actually got some rest.

Onwards and upwards, I followed the road up between the two conical peaks of Gunung Sumbing and Gunung Sendiro. It was an excellent morning on the bike followed by a nice big downhill into Wonosobo.

I was greeted by the Federal Dieng crew, treated to plates of nasi goreng, as much ‘kopi’ or ‘teh’ as I wanted and was featured in a few million selfies.

I wasn’t done yet however. The climb up to the Dieng plateau awaited me. I said goodbye to most of my new comrades joined only by the friendly Tommy and his mate for the super steep climb.

As usual, I was cooking at lower elevations but thankfully the temperature dropped as we ascended. The guys asked to stop at a mosque on the way up to complete their Dhuhr prayers. I was more than happy to oblige them and give my legs a rest.

We said farewell at a stunning lookout and I continued alone up to Dieng town. I met some friendly locals who invited me to join them in a bit of archery. It was a lovely interaction. The same guys had a cheap hotel room for me and that evening we went into town for a bit of dinner.

The hotel was a short hike away from the famous viewpoint on Gunung Sikunir. The following morning I left the hotel in darkness hoping for a good sunrise.

Unfortunately it was a cloudy start and it seemed like there wouldn’t be much to see. A little later however I was treated to a dazzling spectacle as the sun’s golden rays pierced the cloud cover and silhouetted the conical peak of Sindoro. Magic.

Later that day I met another Federal member in town. Mr Toet and his young son spoke almost zero English and despite a daily effort on Duolingo (an excellent language app), my Indonesian was very shoddy. We communicated almost entirely using Google Translate. The language barrier did not prove to be an issue. It was nice to hang out for a couple of hours and explore some of the local tourist sites.

The next morning I was headed back down to sea level. It was a huge descent of over 2800m. I had great fun zooming down the road from Dieng and taking in the volcanic agricultural scenery. Indonesians do not mess around when it comes to farming and I was flabbergasted at the sight of some crazy steep slopes lined with rows of crops.

Super steep mountain? Not a worry – let’s grow some cabbage

I shouted with joy as I twisted and turned through the gorgeous mountain roads. My fun was rudely interrupted by a tiny collision of sorts. I felt an intense sting on my right bicep and slowed the bike to a stop. I noticed a sizeable wasp had become stuck in the sleeve of my t-shirt and was now frantically trying to get free. The wasp wriggled free and buzzed off.

If you’ve been following this blog from the beginning you may recall an entry about a severe allergic reaction I had to a mystery insect bite/sting back in the Australian Outback. Since then I have been carrying a few types of antihistamines and an EpiPen.

I didn’t think much of the sting but had the drugs ready to go just in case. As I continued my descent I felt the familiar itchy sensations in my armpits, backs of my knees and around my crotch. ‘Here we go again’ I thought. I popped an antihistamine and kept going. Unlike Central Australia, Java is a super densely populated island and I was never far from a health centre. Armed with my drugs, the EpiPen and the knowledge that help wasn’t far away, I wasn’t too concerned should the reaction increase in severity.

By the time I’d reached my hotel in Kebumen most of my right arm had become swollen from the sting but the reaction seemed to be slowing down.

My next destination was a hilly headland on the south coast. Menganti looked interesting on the maps and a brief search online had yielded some cool photos. Getting there proved to be much harder work than I anticipated.

Whilst the climbs were short, they were stupidly steep and more than once my hard work going up was wiped out with another blazing descent. The heat and humidity added to the challenge as I was back at sea level. The effort however was well worth it as I took in the dramatic sea cliff scenery from up high.

A local greeted me and asked if I was looking for a campsite. I have been to South East Asia many times and been scammed or ripped off on a few occasions. Unfortunately this has left me feeling a little sceptical when an enthusiastic local appears promising to take me somewhere or offers something. However, this was my first time in Indonesia and what I soon came to realise is that when an Indonesian offers to help, they genuinely mean it.

I think tourism whilst it has many positives can also have a negative impact on the relationship dynamic between foreigners and local people. I’d guess that this is caused by the behaviour of both the tourists (perhaps a lack of reciprocation to local generosity as the tourism industry begins to take hold in a place) and the locals but it seems that wherever tourism flourishes scams artists or price gouging will usually follow.

I went against my gut instinct and followed the man to the campsite. He waited patiently on his scooter for me at the top of each climb. In the end he didn’t charge me to camp as I had my own tent and checked in with me multiple times to make sure I knew where things were and had everything I needed. He didn’t ask for a thing. What a nice guy! I reminded myself to approach every interaction with an open heart and unless I have decent reason to believe otherwise to give the person the benefit of the doubt.

The campsite proved to be excellent. Several small tent sized sites were carved into the cliff side looking out over the Indian Ocean and cooled by a lovely sea breeze. I felt pretty wiped out after a tough few days of climbing and also likely as a result of my moderate allergic reaction to the wasp sting. I spent a couple of days relaxing, reading and enjoying the viewpoints.

Despite having heard that Java is not a great place to tour on a bicycle, I found myself having an excellent time. Indonesia was proving to be a big surprise!

13 June 2023

Volcanic Action

david.j.mccourt Indonesia adventure, bikepacking, Biketouring, Cycle Touring, cycling, expedition, Indonesia, java

I arrived on the outskirts of a town called Probolinggo near dusk. My hotel was just off the main road towards Mt Bromo. Unfortunately my hotel did not exist. I cycled around in circles for half an hour even enlisting the help of locals to find a place that apparently wasn’t there and did not have a contact number. So I booked another hotel, making sure there was at least a phone number this time.

I arrived to find the gate locked and nobody home. I gave the number a ring several times to no avail. Not ideal! I found another hotel and cycled to the property to make sure it actually existed and that someone was there. Third time’s a charm!

I’d opted not to camp at lower elevations in Indonesia because it was still quite hot and humid at night. Hotels were super cheap, usually costing less than AUD$10 per night for my own room with a fan and sometimes A/C.

I hit the road the following morning ready to tackle my next volcanic challenge. I would be climbing up into the famous Bromo Tengger Semeru National Park 2200m over 35 kilometres. My nerve had been a little shaken by the insane gradients of Kawa Ijen but I had made it and I would make this one too. Take it slow – one kilometre at a time and I’ll get it done.

As with the previous climb, the road wasn’t too steep to start with but the heat was punishing at lower elevations. My strategy was to try and get a few hundred metres up higher as soon as I could to take advantage of the cooler temperatures.

Fortunately the heavens opened once again and I found myself cycling between dramatic cloud covered ridges. The tropical jungle gave way to darker greens of the sub alpine terrain. I was glad to take shelter in a warung over a double helping of hot mee goreng (fried noodles) served by a nice old lady. I waited for the heaviest rain to pass and continued up the hair pinned road.

It was a long, slow grind up the mountainside. I enjoyed a really lovely moment as I passed a mosque that was playing the afternoon call to prayer from its loudspeakers. The singing was beautiful and added to my sense of wonder as I took in the misty mountain scenery surrounding me.

I took many breaks this time, having learnt from my previous effort on Kawa Ijen. Thankfully the gradients weren’t quite as hard but still tough going. Once again however, the steepest part of the road awaited me near the top. It was now the early evening and a cloudy sky meant it was getting dark.

Night had fallen by the time I rolled into the village of Cemoro Lawang. I paid the village tourist toll and found a cheap guesthouse for the night. I was planning to hike up to a lookout point for sunrise. It was surprisingly cold, especially in my drenched clothes and I was glad to make use of the warm shower.

The village was very quiet and it took me a while to find somewhere to eat. Several men were drinking coffee and tea and welcomed me with the usual questions of where I was from, my age and whether I was married.

The next morning I woke up at stupid o’clock and cycled to the foot of the super steep road up to the lookout. The road was lined with well over a hundred four wheel drives – the preferred mode of transport for most tourists here. A few men were also offering rides up on horseback as I walked through a minefield of horse poo in the darkness. Unfortunately, the dense cloud cover made for a disappointing sunrise. It was still pretty amazing to look down into the caldera below and watch the FWDs zip across the dark sandy plain like beetles.

I headed back to the guesthouse for a nap. Feeling refreshed I cycled up to the rim and then down into the famous ‘Sea of Sand’ below. Luckily the sand was damp and well compressed so I didn’t get bogged too much. The scenery was fascinating – completely different to the jungle down at sea level.

I locked my bike to a sign near the trail to the Bromo crater. A concrete staircase ran up the slope. There was a building roar as I neared the top. I was both nervous and excited to be this close to the source of the sound. The billowing smoke prevented me from seeing the bottom of the crater but it was nothing short of awe inspiring.

On the edge of the crater

I headed back down to my bike, obliging a few selfie requests along the way. Unfortunately the clouds prevented me from seeing the towering peak of Semeru in the distance, another active volcano that erupted in 2021 killing 57 people and causing a lot of destruction.

The steep volcanic mountain sides lining the caldera reminded me of Hawaii. In contrast, some of the hills in the centre were reminiscent of the UK. I climbed out of the caldera and was looking forward to a long downhill ride to the city of Malang.

Be careful what you wish for – the descent was incredibly steep and it was a challenge not to completely cook my brakes with the heavy weight of my bike. I almost ran into the back of a van at one point after my brakes lost all power.

Thankfully the road eventually gave way to more manageable gradients. It was heavenly riding along the winding bitumen back down into lush rainforest. The heat of the lower elevations was tempered by more rain. I was thoroughly drenched by the time I arrived at the home of my host Adi.

Adi was super nice and ran a small noodle restaurant out of his parents’ house. I stayed for a couple of nights, exploring some of the nearby sights and meeting a few other local cyclists.

Adi was a member of a community called Federal Bikes – an organisation I would meet many times during my time in Java. He put me in touch with another member Ovan who hosted me for a night in his town of Blitar.

Ovan was a super jolly guy and took me out for the best BBQ chicken I have ever tasted. Together with some of his friends we explored some of the famous sights of Blitar including the grave of Indonesia’s first president Sukarno.

The next morning I said goodbye and was greeted by a few more Federal guys on the road to a small town called Trenggalek. Kiprok and his friend took me to lunch, coffee and then cycled with me up and over a beautiful pass. It was quickly becoming a Federal Tour of Java but everyone I met was super nice and it was good fun to meet the happy locals.

Building empathy with Kiprok

That night I stayed with a guy whose nickname was Bopo Edy. We enjoyed many cups of tea, coffee and bowls of bakso (Indonesian meatball soup). Edy was super excited to have me, he had many questions and even gave me a cycling jersey. Throughout the evening several guests came and went.

Edy asked me if I liked massages – I said absolutely and within ten minutes an older man with a permanent smile arrived at the door. What ensued was an hour of borderline torture. It was a strange mixture of hilarity, agony and I think some semblance of therapeutic benefit. To add to the comedy of the situation, whilst I was writhing on the carpet everyone else continued to chat as if this was completely normal with even more guests arriving.

I was pretty wrecked by the time I retired at 11pm. Suffice to say I slept very deeply that night. Edy and I had agreed that we would wake up at 5am to eat breakfast then leave at 6am to meet his friends for a group ride. At 4:40am Edy bounded into my bedroom bouncing off the walls with energy. He had cooked me a breakfast of rice, stewed daging (meat) and an omelette. He excitedly watched me take every bite as I continued to wake up.

With great enthusiasm from Edy, we set off at 5:45am to meet the gang running well ahead of schedule. I was finally wide awake as the guys set a good pace and it was fun to be cycling in a group again. There were countless handshakes, selfies and even a female cyclist.

The group took me out for a second breakfast before saying goodbye to me at the provincial border with Central Java. It was a whirlwind couple of days but great to meet so many friendly Indonesians – next up the special city of Yogyakarta.

2 June 2023

East Java

david.j.mccourt Indonesia adventure, bikepacking, Biketouring, Cycle Touring, cycling, expedition, Indonesia, java

I rolled off the ferry and onto Java. It was a short trip but it was late and I had booked a cheap hotel near the ferry terminal in Ketapang. I was now on Indonesia’s most populous island and the centre of government for this huge country. With 150 million people, it was a far cry from the vast empty interior of Central Australia.

I enjoyed a tasty plate of nasi goreng for dinner – the famous Indonesian fried rice. It was delicious. I got out of the hotel a bit later than planned the following morning. I hadn’t been waking up super early in Bali but soon learned I would need to get on the road early and get some kilometres under my belt before the midday heat. I enjoyed breakfast at a nearby warung (a roadside restaurant) and was asked many questions by the curious but friendly locals.

I had been a little disappointed in myself for not tackling the volcanic mountains in the centre of Bali. A quick look on the map showed something that would possibly make up for it. Kawa Ijen is a 2769m tall volcano. It would be a 30km climb with some 1900m of elevation up from the town of Banyuwangi. Time to test the legs.

The first 20 kilometres weren’t too steep but the increasing mid morning heat made for tough cycling. A friendly local waved me over and generously bought me a young coconut juice. I was glad to have a short rest in the shade. As I continued up, I noticed rows of cabbages and root vegetables. I guessed that the climate at higher elevations in the tropics was better suited to growing this type of food.

From here the road only got steeper, boy oh boy – seriously steep. Clouds descended and eventually I could only see a hundred metres or so in any direction. Thankfully as I went up, the temperature went down and when the heavens opened I welcomed the pouring rain.

The incline continued to increase. I ran out of gears and I accepted that I would need to push my bike. The road narrowed, and the farmland scenery gave way to lush rainforest. It was incredibly beautiful, especially with the tropical rain but the road was punishing.

I kept checking the map to see if the gradient would ease. 6km to go. Okay, push for a few steps, pull the front brake, take a few breaths and repeat. I couldn’t believe it – the road was so steep I was struggling to push my bike. I wondered whether I’d bitten off more than I could chew. No – keep going, just take it one step at a time.

A few motorcycles and the occasional car passed me in either direction, the occupants probably wondering why this lunatic was pushing a bike up this stupidly steep road in the pissing rain.

I both hated and loved the challenge – a strange paradox I’d experienced many times on my bike. But this was crazy – I’d never felt like I might not actually make it. The weight of my heavily laden bike made it so much tougher. I focused on some wise words an inspiration of mine (Alistair Humphreys) said in one of his books. Paraphrasing, all I needed to do was focus on this moment, not how far I’d already come or how far I had yet to go.

I persevered for what felt like an eternity until the road finally, mercifully eased and I realised I was nearing the top of the climb. I was drenched from head to toe and completely wrecked as I rolled into a small village with some gloriously flat bitumen. I smashed a can of coke and had a wee lie down.

I planned to pitch my tent at the local campsite and wake early for a sunrise hike up to the Kawa Ijen summit. It was surprisingly cold, especially with my damp clothing. I noticed a few locals sitting around a small fire and asked if I could join them to dry my clothes. I was welcomed with big smiles and we chatted using the Google Translate app on my phone.

I’d heard that sulphurous blue flames are visible if you arrive at the summit crater before first light. Unfortunately a sign beside the manned entrance checkpoint explained that hikers were not allowed to start walking until 4am ‘due to recent volcanic activity’. I’m not sure what that meant and didn’t think that active volcanoes cared what time it was when they chose to erupt but it looked like I wouldn’t be seeing the blue flames this time.

At 4am the ranger started waving us through. I found myself amongst a large number of hikers as we set off in the dark. The path was super steep and I was reminded of my trip up Mt. Rwetyepme many months prior in Central Australia. First light came lighting the sky up with a spectacular array of colours and revealing silhouettes of the conical peaks surrounding me. I was the first to arrive on the rim of the crater and was greeted by a pungent sulphuric stench not dissimilar to the smell of rotten eggs.

I walked around the rim to get a better view of the vivid blue lake and billowing smoke below. I’d never been near an active volcano before let alone on top of one. Growing up in my small village of Cushendall many years before in Northern Ireland I wondered what it might be like to live in a place where volcanic eruptions or earthquakes were a real possibility and not just a feature of Hollywood movies. And now here I was standing on the edge of a smouldering crater. I silently asked Kawa Ijen not to erupt that morning (please).

As I made my way back down the mountain I encountered local miners on their way to the sulphur pit at the edge of the lake. A few early starters were already carrying their first heavy loads on a wooden pole with a basket on each end.

The miners carry up to 90 kilograms 300m up the steep rim of the crater, then another 500m (3.5km) down the equally steep path to the roadside. I’ve read that these men get paid a pittance for their hard graft and were selling small trinkets carved out of the sulphur to supplement their incomes.

Upon reaching camp I packed up the bike and hit the road. I had a ripper of a day ahead of me with a descent into the volcanic plateau below. The winding road took me through many villages surrounded by fields growing vegetables, tea and coffee.

Indonesia is a major coffee growing country and as I soon discovered, drinking coffee or ‘kopi’ as it is called here is a mainstay of Indonesian life.

I hooped and hollered as the road dropped back down to sea level and the endless rice paddies. I met many more friendly faces on the road – often keen for a photograph together and occasionally a little shy.

What a way to start the mountains of Java! Next up, more climbing and volcanoes in the famous Bromo Tengger Semeru National Park.

1 May 2023

A new beginning in Bali

david.j.mccourt Indonesia adventure, bali, bikepacking, Biketouring, cycling, expedition

I took a last look at the two huge maps I had stuck to the wall above my bed. The first was a map of Australia showing my route and the second a map of the world. I’d deliberately put them up as a visual reminder of how far I had come and where I was going. It was hard to believe I was finally packing up my bike and gear to fly to Indonesia.

Packing for a world cycling adventure isn’t easy. I’ve read many times about how people invariably end up taking things they don’t need or will never use. I had the luxury of cycling for a few months in my home country of Australia and figuring out what I could offload whilst my arm was healing. There were a few items that I’d decided I wouldn’t be needing for the rest of the trip including my camping chair (a lovely luxury to have in the Australian bush) and solar panel (never used).

I felt a surge of excitement at the airport check-in desk. It was finally happening – I was getting back on the road! I had been back home in Melbourne for long enough that leaving again was hard but I knew I needed to continue my adventure.

I hadn’t been overseas since before the pandemic. What better place to drop back into international travel than the sensory overload that is South-East Asia. I’d never been to Indonesia and outside of Bali I had zero expectations.

I was slammed by heat and humidity as I stepped out of the airport. Time to start getting used to it, I would be in the tropics for the next six months or so. My Dad had given me the number of a taxi driver he’d met during a previous trip to Bali. It was great to have my bike and heavy box of gear picked up from the airport. Tude was super chill and responded to my question about the best local food by taking me to a restaurant serving up satay kambing. It was the first of many times that I would eat this delicious meal.

I’d booked the cheapest hotel I could find – $6 for my own room with air conditioning. Not bad going! I needed to get my visa extended which meant staying close to the immigration office whilst my application was processed.

I enjoyed a relaxing couple of days eating delicious food and getting a feel for the place. Kuta Beach was as I’d expected – overdeveloped with lots of Australians and comparatively expensive. Yet the friendliness of the Balinese people and Hindu culture with countless puras (temples) shone through the tourist development.

I reassembled my bike and cycled down to the southern tip of the island. It was great to get away from Kuta. The pristine Green Bowl Beach was a gem and the many steps down from the sea cliff meant it wasn’t too crowded.

There was plenty of traffic on the roads but many more mopeds than cars or trucks which generally gave me a wide berth.

I also spent a couple of days in Ubud which was still quite touristy but very beautiful. It was a pleasure to cycle up through the rice paddies and villages. The streets were lined with decorated bamboo poles known as penjor. The Balinese take their spirituality seriously.

It took about five days for my visa extension to be approved but I now had sixty days to explore Indonesia. I contacted a local Wayan on Warmshowers. He lived in a small village on the east side of the island called Sibetan.

It felt good to be back on my fully loaded bicycle but I was also a little nervous about the steep roads of Bali. I had rented a stationary bike trainer whilst my arm was healing and had finally gotten out on the road a few weeks before leaving Melbourne. However, there was no doubt that I had lost much of the cycling fitness I’d built up over 7,000 Kms through the centre of Australia.

It had been dry during my first week in Bali despite it being the wet season. The heavens finally opened during my ride to Sibetan. I opted to cycle through the rain having been drenched in sweat from the get go.

It wasn’t long before I’d left the throngs of tourists and it felt nice to start to get off the beaten path. There were some killer pinches as the road east crossed numerous streams coming down from the volcanoes in the centre of the island.

I had some amazing views as I got close to Wayan’s home. It looked like the whole planet had been tilted by a few degrees as I observed the lower gradient slopes of Gunung Agung – an active volcano and the highest peak on Bali.

I arrived at Wayan’s home just after dark. The address I’d plugged into Google Maps led me down a narrow path lined with dense jungle. I messaged Wayan on WhatsApp to confirm I was in the right spot and he emerged from the darkness with a big smile on his face.

Wayan was super nice and stoked to have me stay with him and his family. I was also stoked, he was my first international host and I was excited to see what life was like for Balinese people.

There was no shortage of tasty snacks and rice fuelled meals. As Wayan said “No rice, no power”. This became a mantra for me in Indonesia. The following morning we hiked along terraced rice paddies to the oldest village in Bali. I marvelled at the lush tropical scenery, not noticing how much I was sweating until I could feel the beads of sweat dripping off my elbows.

It was also Siwa Ratri ‘the night of Siwa’. This is a time that Hindus pray for forgiveness and for support from the god Siwa (Shiva). Wayan and his family, like most Balinese are practising Hindus. That evening, Wayan took me to the Besakih Mother Temple high up on the slopes of Gunung Agung. The road appeared to go up indefinitely and I thought about what it might be like to ride up with my heavy bike. It was a wet, drizzly evening with dense clouds but that did not prevent the crowds of devout followers from visiting the temple.

I followed Wayan’s lead as he performed various rituals and said prayers. It was a truly amazing experience to sit in the pouring rain with hundreds of others as the prayers were crecited in a temple on the slopes of an active volcano.

The next day I said farewell to Wayan and headed to Ahmed Beach on the east coast of Bali. I’d opted for the flat coastal road instead of going up and over the volcanoes in the centre of the island. I was a little disappointed in myself for not tackling the mountains but I knew there were plenty of long steep roads ahead of me in Java. Little did I know just how steep or how long they would be.

I enjoyed a rest day at a small backpackers near Singaraja. It was an interesting experience hanging out with the other travellers. I didn’t feel like the ‘normal’ backpacker I had been in the past. I was still a tourist in a foreign country but I was here for a different type of travel.

Arriving at the ferry terminal, I was glad to say goodbye to the relative familiarity of Bali and looked forward to the unknown that Java would bring. It was great to get a few hundred kilometres under my belt and be overseas once again. Roll on the next stage of Indonesia!

8 April 2023

A Bump in the Road – Part 2

david.j.mccourt Australia, Uncategorized adventure, Australia, bikepacking, Biketouring, Cycle Touring, expedition, fracture

My first thought was ‘Shit! Have I damaged the scooter?’, I quickly pulled the bike out of the bushes which was now missing a wing mirror. I then noticed that my left arm was in quite a bit of pain. With the scooter back between my legs and the adrenaline subsiding I realised I couldn’t bend my arm anymore. Head thumping and sweat pouring with my helmet still on, I awkwardly reached my right hand across my body to fish my phone out of my left pocket. Unable to get off the scooter, I phoned Lisa who was literally metres away inside the house.

Sheepishly I asked for a bit of assistance in the driveway. Fortunately Lisa works as an EMT nurse and jumped straight into action when I explained what had happened. I was terribly embarrassed by the situation but Lisa and Steve were super supportive and were much more concerned about getting me to the hospital. Within thirty minutes I was being attended to by the emergency room doctor.

At this stage I was still pretty hopeful that whatever injury I’d done to myself was minor and that it wouldn’t delay my adventure too much. My arm was x-rayed and the doctor returned later to advise that I’d fractured my elbow and I would require surgery for it to heal properly. They couldn’t do the surgery in Broome and I would need to go to one of the major cities for the operation.

I was devastated. Up to this point, everything had seemed like an embarrassing but strangely curious turn of events. Now I realised the impact of the crash – I was looking at months off the bike and my trip of a lifetime was on hold. I shed a few tears and gave my Mum a ring. It was good to speak to her and we had a little laugh at the fact that this was my second trip to the hospital in as many weeks.

After giving it some thought, I decided it made sense for me to return to Melbourne with my bicycle. I would try to get my operation done as soon as possible and recover at home with the support of family and friends. And so I booked an expensive one way flight from Broome to Melbourne.

Belinda surprised me with a wonderful show of support from her and my friends. She had organised a fundraiser for me to help take the sting out of the cost of my flight home. Thank you again Belinda and everyone that chipped in – I am incredibly grateful for your generosity.

And so I arrived back in Melbourne with a busted arm and a heavy heart. Mum picked me up from the airport and we went straight to the emergency department at the Alfred Hospital. As it happened my Dad was visiting his own mother back in Northern Ireland.

It didn’t take long to be seen at the hospital and I was told I might have the surgery later that day. In the end called back into hospital the following day. I am super lucky to live in a country with such high quality public health care.

This was my first time going under the knife and I was morbidly curious about the inner workings of the hospital and having surgery. I was in a bit of pain coming out of surgery and stayed in for one night before being discharged with some drugs and a preliminary rehabilitation plan.

So there I was – back where I had started the adventure four months earlier. On the one hand it was good to be home and great to see many of the faces I love. On the other I found myself struggling emotionally. I had gone from the ecstasy of living my dream to both literally and figuratively crashing back down to earth.

At my six week follow up, the doctor advised my arm was healing more slowly than hoped and that I would need to stay in Melbourne for another six weeks minimum. The news was super disappointing but outside of my control. I attempted to focus on what I could do to aid my recovery. I tried to snap out of it by reminding myself how lucky I was to have been operated on so quickly, that I was likely to make a full recovery and I had lots of support from my family and friends.

It was hard to stay sad with a face like this beside me – my niece Grace

I decided to go back to therapy to work through what I was feeling. When I had set out on this expedition I expected there to be adversity, but I thought it would look like a flat tire in the middle of nowhere, perhaps running out of water or struggling through nearly impassable roads. I did not expect it to look like me breaking my arm on a moped and having to return home for months to recover. The counsellor I spoke to helped me reframe my situation. This was my current challenge and it was in fact part of the adventure. Taking a step back and looking at things a little differently made a world of difference to me.

I was finally given the all clear to get back on the road at my twelve week follow up. Whether or not to continue the expedition was never in question for me – it was simply a matter of how long I would need to recover.

On the upside – I’ve got a pretty sweet scar

In retrospect three and half months passed pretty quickly and I look back on this period with much gratitude. It was lovely to live at home with Mum and Dad again – I haven’t spent that much time with them in years. I was able to attend the funeral of my Uncle Terry who sadly died whilst I was back, go to many gatherings with friends and be both supported by and a support to the people I love.

First time on two wheels since my accident – thanks Annie!

Once I’d received the all clear, I booked a flight to Bali, Indonesia. As much as I wanted to pick up where I left off in Broome, the wet season was in full swing and completing the Gibb River Road would be nigh impossible. The Top End is in my backyard and I will be able to return with comparative ease. I decided I was content with the line I had cut through the middle of this grand continent and that Broome would be the end of the road for the Australian leg of my trip.

7,300 km through this magnificent country

Life will continue to throw curve balls at us and we never know what is around the next corner. However, I strongly believe we always have a choice in how we respond to what happens in our lives. I’ve learnt quite a few lessons through this experience (including to stick to non-motorised forms of two wheeled transport) – it’s okay to feel crap sometimes, to be kind to myself and that this too shall pass.

And so I found myself counting down to another departure and suddenly short of time (there might be a pattern emerging here). Bring on Indonesia, my second country of the expedition and all that it holds!

Good times (and many more not-pictured) with friends and family at home

I want to extend a huge thanks to all the people that helped and supported me over the last few months; Lisa and Steve for being excellent hosts, getting me to hospital and packing down my bike for the trip home (sorry again about crashing your scooter), Guy for working with Steve to get 70kg+ of my gear to the airport, Belinda for all your care, kind words and for organising the fundraiser, Mum and Dad for having me back at home and your unwavering support, the medical teams at Broome Hospital and the Alfred Hospital Melbourne for your amazing work and patching me up so quickly, Tom and Ando for your words of advice and getting me out on an adventure to the Sapphire Coast, Annie for getting me back on the bike with your tandem recumbent and to all the rest of my family and friends – I love each and every one of you!

8 April 2023

A Bump in the Road – Part 1

david.j.mccourt Australia, Uncategorized adventure, bikepacking, Biketouring, broome, Cycle Touring, cycling, expedition

The bitumen of the Great Northern Highway was deliciously smooth compared to the hundreds of corrugated kilometres I had pedalled through Central Australia. A new challenge presented itself with daytime temperatures exceeding 40°C. It was getting towards the peak of the dry season and I was cooking under the harsh Australian sun.

Trying to beat the heat

My strategy was to start in the cooler hours of the morning and stop riding for a couple of hours at lunchtime. I would then start a second shift in the mid-afternoon.

I looked forward to the cool approach of dusk – I referred to this time of day as ‘happy hour’ and I loved riding without my t-shirt or fear of getting burnt. The sunsets of Western Australia lived up to their reputation. Each evening the sky would blaze in a chorus of yellows and oranges followed by a deep red glow as the light of the day faded away.

Sometimes I would continue pedalling into the dark. I enjoyed the nighttime quiet of the road. Cycling under an endless canopy of stars was nothing short of magical. The peace of the night would occasionally be interrupted by the blinding high beams and roaring engine of a passing vehicle. I always had plenty of warning to move to the side of the road and never felt unsafe.

One evening I came across an injured falcon. It appeared to have a broken wing and was unable to take flight. I had signal and phoned an animal rescue service 400 km away in Kununurra. Unfortunately they advised the only course of action was to euthanise the bird. It wasn’t easy but I took solace in the knowledge that I was ending its suffering.

Night riding in the Kimberly

My next stop was the town of Fitzroy Crossing. I arrived in the late morning and went to the IGA to stock up on supplies. A man approached me as I loaded my bike. As it turned out Indi was a Warmshowers host and he invited me to stay with him whilst I was in town. He was the manager of the community radio station and lived on site. It was a truly unique experience and I even got to watch a group of Indigenous kids introduce their favourite gangster rap live on air. Thanks again for having me Indi!

I also planned to meet my friend Jeremy. He works as a tour guide and happened to be running a tour from Darwin to Broome. Jez suggested I join them on the Danggu River Cruise which takes you into the nearby national park and past some amazing rock formations. It was great to catch up with a friend from home and take a couple of days off the bike.

My good mate Tom completed a big cycling adventure many years ago – a lap around the outside of Australia. His trip and the many stories that followed became the spark that ignited the desire in me to embark on an expedition of my own.

Tom has offered much sage advice since I left Melbourne. On one occasion he strongly recommended I find a cattle grid on the highway, crawl into the space under the metal bars and wait for a road train to race across the top. And so one morning I found myself lying in the dirt waiting for a road train. Suffice to say it was a top notch experience and Tom later congratulated me on my entry to this exclusive club.

I looked forward to finally visiting the famous Western Australian town of Broome. I consider it to be prohibitively expensive to fly from the southeast of Australia with prices double what it usually costs to fly to South East Asia. One morning I was gifted a serious easterly tail wind and I was able to clock 200 km by the end of the day.

The generosity of the road gods did not end there as I found not one but two unopened beers on the side of the road and a mascot in the form of a helmet wearing rubber duck clad in a fluoro vest. What a haul!

I had arranged to stay with Warmshowers hosts Lisa and Steve whilst in Broome. I arrived sweaty and dirty with swathes of crystallised salt on my t-shirt and shorts. Lisa and Steve gave me a cold glass of water and suggested I jump in the pool to cool off – what a welcome!

Lisa and Steve were also hosting another cycling couple Chris and Susan who had just completed the Gibb River Road. It was great to meet everyone and we enjoyed a classic Broome sunset with cold drinks and nibbles on the beach.

Cable Beach was impressive with gorgeous aqua blue water and the famous camel trains marching along the shoreline as the sun set on the Indian Ocean.

Steve had a petrol scooter that he used to get around town and said I could borrow it during my visit. I’ve used scooters a few times before and was glad to rest my legs after an intense few weeks on the bike.

One morning I was about to head to the shops to buy ingredients for dinner. I was planning a homemade pizza feast to say thank you to my hosts. I reversed the scooter manually out of the garage. I started the engine and revved the motor a little too hard, the sudden jolt sent me backwards causing me to rev the motor even further. At this stage the bike careened towards a concrete wall lining the driveway, I overcorrected the steering and was thrown off the bike putting my left arm out to break my fall.

Continued in Part 2…

22 March 2023

Wonders of Western Australia

david.j.mccourt Uncategorized adventure, Australia, bikepacking, Biketouring, Cycle Touring, cycling, expedition

I left the relaxed scenery of Nyaarnna and headed north. I still had roughly 220 km to the next bastion of civilisation, Halls Creek. The track comes close to the infamous (thanks to the backpacker horror movie) Wolfe Creek Meteor Crater. Eager to finish the Tanami, I was tempted to pedal right past it but I reminded myself that I may not return to this part of Australia and that I would likely regret not taking a look.

Without a serial killer in sight, it was nice to take a morning off the bike to walk around the rim and get a better look at the surrounding landscape. I doubt standing on the edge of a meteor crater will ever get old but if I had to choose one I would opt for the much more striking and lesser known Tnorala (Gosses Bluff) back in Central Australia. There were a few campervans and four-wheel drives at the nearby campsite and I was gifted a beer by fellow camper Steve (cheers again!).

There was a marked change in the scenery during the last couple of days on the Tanami. The expansive plains gave way to rolling hills, the bush was becoming more green and cattle appeared by the hundreds. The end did not come easy – I was served another helping of serious corrugations but with the addition of short punchy climbs.

It was with great elation that I arrived at the junction with the Great Northern Highway. I passed a southbound grader whose driver was somewhat shocked to see my dirty, dusty figure roll past on a bicycle.

I could just about kiss the silky smooth asphalt and flew into Halls Creek with a nice tailwind. I felt the same disproportionate sense of entering a bustling metropolis that had washed over me when I arrived in Yulara many weeks before. A petrol station, a grocery and even a pub! I treated myself to an ice cold ginger beer before heading to the caravan park to get cleaned up.

I met the friendly owner Roland whose tiny shop appeared to have more variety than a ten storey department store. I enjoyed a shave and a cooling shower, emerging from the toilet block a new man.

Many of the people I had spoken to before getting to Halls Creek had warned about rampant crime and violence from the Indigenous Community. I suspected that much of it was hearsay or hyperbole as I find is often the case with this sort of talk. Personally I had a very positive experience in Halls Creeks and got chatting to a few of the friendly locals at the pub. This is not to say that crime doesn’t happen here or that these communities don’t experience some serious challenges. However, my personal impression was that it was overstated by a few of the other travellers I met on the road.

I was keen to check out Purnululu National Park about 100 km northeast of Halls Creek. I would then backtrack and head west towards Broome as I planned to tackle the famous Gibb River Road that runs through the middle of the Kimberly Plateau. I’d heard the road into Purnululu was particularly gnarly with many blind corners and a few boggy river crossings.

A pair of friendly grey nomads Des and Wendy approached me at the caravan park. As it happened they planned to visit the park at the same time as me and they generously offered me a lift in their four-wheel drive. We agreed to meet at the Bungle Bungle Caravan Park.

I encountered my first boab tree along the road to Purnululu. These magnificent trees grow in all sorts of bizarre ways with a trunk that typically bulges out from the middle. I looked forward to seeing many more.

My fears about being more susceptible to punctures with a tubed set up were realised on the way to Purnululu. I experienced several flats in my rear tyre pulling small thorns from the rubber with each repair. Fortunately Des had a compressor in his caravan and I was able to convert back to tubeless when I met them at the turnoff for Purnululu.

I had no regrets catching a lift into the park with Des and Wendy. As forewarned, the road was heavily corrugated, with some seriously dangerous blind corners and a few swampy river crossings.

It was interesting to experience the ‘discomfort’ of corrugations inside a four-wheel drive. I can safely report that there is no comparison with the near constant bucking bronco effect of tackling corrugations on a bicycle. I’ll stop moaning here and have reminded myself that this adventure (and my mode of transport) is completely of my choosing.

Purnululu did not disappoint with narrow slot canyons, a huge cavern and some truly spectacular rock formations. It felt a little strange to be chauffeured around in a FWD after having spent so much time on my bike. All in all I had a lovely few days getting to know Des and Wendy and exploring the park.

Back down the road towards Halls Creek, I opted for a bush camp near the junction with the Tanami. I completed my daily ritual of setting up the tent, doing some yoga and enjoyed the usual fine dining of mei goreng noodles with TVP and rehydrated peas. I hopped into bed, keen to make an early start to escape the heat of the day.

As I lay down to sleep, I noticed an itchy sensation in my upper thigh. I assumed I’d been bitten by another of the mosquitos that seem to thrive on my blood. Attempting to apply some self control I tried to ignore the itch before finally giving in.

Unsurprisingly scratching made it worse. I soon found myself voraciously scratching the insides of both my legs and butt. Something else must be going on I thought. I shone my head torch and was shocked to discover hives spreading up my thighs and onto my torso. Fortunately I had phone signal and I gave my partner Belinda a call to see if she had encountered anything like this before. I swallowed an antihistamine (zyrtec) but got a little nervous when not long after the swelling spread to my lips and my eyes.

Don’t worry I left my plastic surgeon a bad review on google

At this stage I opted to ring 000 emergency to find out what the best course of action would be. Had I not been in range of phone signal I would have used my Garmin InReach Mini to send an SOS and explain my situation via GPS SMS. This bit of kit is a crucial lifeline for me on this journey.

If the swelling moved to my throat I could be in trouble. Once I’d explained the situation the operator advised that they would dispatch an ambulance from the Halls Creek Medical Centre immediately. I was surprised by the prompt action but the operator explained that it was much better to be safe than sorry in this situation.

It was a little funny trying to explain the location of my campsite. I felt pretty calm in the knowledge that help was on the way and hoped that the antihistamine I’d taken might help. Within twenty minutes I saw the spotlight of the ambulance scanning the bush. The paramedic Darren, suggested I load my bike and all my gear into the van.

At the hospital the attending doctor gave me a separate type of antihistamine (phenergen) and had adrenaline ready in case my airways became affected. I was pretty shocked to see how much the reaction had spread in the bathroom mirror.

Fortunately the second dose of antihistamines seemed to get me through the peak of the reaction. The staff at the hospital let me stay in one of the rooms overnight. By morning the swelling/reaction had all but disappeared except for my face. The cause of the reaction remains unclear but I suspect I was bitten by an ant or something. I’ve never reacted like this to a mosquito bite and strongly doubt it was brought on by my food.

After all the excitement, I felt pretty knackered and opted to take the day off to recover back at the caravan park. Roland was very surprised to see me again so soon. All’s well that ends well – a massive thanks to the team at Halls Creek Medical Centre for taking care of me. Little did I know that this would not be my only visit to the hospital in Western Australia…

8 March 2023

Trials and Tribulations on the Tanami

david.j.mccourt Australia adventure, Australia, bikepacking, Biketouring, Cycle Touring, cycling, desert, expedition, Tanami

The weight of my bike was intimidating as I left the comparative metropolis of Yuendumu for the emptiness of the Tanami Desert. My trusty steed was fully loaded with enough food for over a week and maxed out with 22.5 litres of water. It would be a whopping 600 km to the next settlement of Bililuna.

The Rabbit Flat Roadhouse, about 300 km from Yuendumu closed over ten years ago and along with it a vital source of water for cyclists like me. I was hopeful that the Granites mine, about 260 km along the track from Yuendumu would offer me some water after having read some positive accounts from earlier bike tourists. I knew that I would otherwise be at the mercy of people traversing the Tanami in vehicles (Tanami Water Information).

I’d heard from my mate Tom that there are plans to fully seal the Tanami. It will completely change the dynamic of riding through this epic part of the Australian Outback. However, I suspect the desires of adventurous cyclists are quite far down the list of priorities for the NT and WA governments. There were roadworks for the first 50 km or so from Yuendumu suggesting that these plans are underway.

corrugation (noun)
cor·ru·ga·tion
1: the act of corrugating
2: a ridge or groove of a surface that has been corrugated

It wasn’t long before the first of the infamous corrugations reared their arse jarring, bone rattling, bladder dislodging, bucking bronco simulating heads. At first it was quite funny as my bike and I were thrown up and down. I soon realised that trying to take on the corrugations at speed would quickly sap my strength and with such a heavy load, potentially result in a cracked frame.

At times my speed slowed to a grinding crawl. I would try to find the smoothest possible line weaving back and forth across the track. There was often nowhere to hide with shoulder to shoulder sandy ripples. More than once I cursed the ‘selfish’ drivers who had ruined the last slither of smooth dirt in their own quests for a less lumpy way through. Weren’t they thinking of the poor cyclists like me out here in the middle of nowhere?

A gorgeous, sandy & corrugated heaven or hell?

There was nothing to do but grin and bear it. I reminded myself that I had chosen to be here, that my route was completely arbitrary and that this type of struggle was one of the reasons I am doing this adventure. I firmly believe that life wouldn’t be nearly as interesting if it were always easy.

The scenery flanking the road was changing. Trees were becoming much less common and I noticed the appearance of termite mounds that began to multiply by the thousands. Every now and again a road train would roll past, usually moving not much faster than me and announcing its presence with a booming rumble.

Encounters with road trains were always interesting

Finding a patch of ground devoid of spinifex was also becoming a challenge but with a little perseverance I would find a suitable spot. The weather was changing too – it was becoming noticeably warmer during the day. At night I would occasionally see a beacon of light in the distance. Ten minutes later a road train would lumber past, lights dotted along the semi-trailers like an amusement park ride. Quite an interesting sight in the darkness of the desert.

On my third day shortly before I got to the Granites Mine a friendly driver stopped for a chat. Vivienne was on her way back to the mine after some time off in Alice Springs. Workers usually fly into the mine’s airport but Vivienne had chosen to drive. She topped up my water and even gave me a bag of ice – what a legend! I pulled into the mine for a cheeky look and was greeted by another friendly face – Audrey who loaded me up with frozen electrolytes. Not a bad haul!

It didn’t cool down much overnight and the following day it felt like someone had cranked up the heat. It was only going to get hotter from here and I was thankful to have the extra electrolytes. A slight incline and a hot headwind made the corrugations even more challenging.

After a seriously tough first half of the day I noticed my rear tire seemed to be a bit soft. I gave it some air with my pump and continued on. Not much further down the road I felt a wobble towards the rear of the bike. I stopped to take a look and discovered sealant bubbling from a decent sized tear near the bead.

My first flat in almost 6000 kms – not bad going!

After a few failed efforts to repair the tear, I decided to swap it out for the spare tire I had lugged all the way from Melbourne. I wasn’t able to get the bead to seat which meant I would need to use a tube. Going back to a tubed set up left me feeling quite vulnerable as I had pulled quite a few tiny thorns from my tire already. It was a hard day in the saddle and I slept very deeply that night.

Onwards and upwards! I called into another mine that I had been told might be staffed. Caretaker Aaron met me at the gate and let me in to top up my water. A cook named Kathy was delighted to see a new face, offered me some lunch and even made me an AeroPress coffee. It was great to have a yarn and interesting to learn more about life working in a remote mine.

A vast landscape

Towards the end of the day I was given a few cold cans of soft drink by the generous Stewy & Moya – cheers folks! The track turned due west and after another long day on the Tanami I finally entered Western Australia. I was stoked to be in WA and looked forward to checking out some of its famous national parks.

About halfway through my first day in WA, I noticed some dark smoke rising in the distance. I assumed it was a bushfire and would need to proceed with caution. As I got closer to the smoke I noticed an Aboriginal family sitting on the track beside their van. It looked like they had been there for a while with a tarp set up for shade. I asked if they needed water or food and what had happened.

Walter explained that they had run out of fuel the previous afternoon and were waiting for help from their hometown of Balgo, a community that forks off the Tanami. With no phone signal I offered the use of my Garmin InReach to send an SMS via satellite. I cooked us a big pot of rice, dehydrated peas and TVP. It was nice to share a meal and have a chat.

Terence enjoying the chatter ring gifted to me by my good friend Lissa

After an hour or so, a couple of utes appeared on the horizon. The drivers stopped and I explained the situation. The utes were en route to a prospective mining site and after some convincing on my part one of the drivers gave Walter enough fuel to get them home. I had encountered several vehicles coming from the opposite direction over the previous 24 hours. I wondered whether any of them had stopped to offer help. Walter and his family hadn’t flagged me down. But given the remote location I’d expect that passers-by would stop to check if everything was okay. I left the scene with mixed feelings and more questions than answers.

Later I passed the bushfire I had seen earlier – the spinifex burned hard and fast whilst the fire seemed unable to penetrate the hearty bark of the desert eucalypts. A fascinating sight.

The following day I arrived in Bililuna. I was stoked to have made it through this extremely remote section of the trip and looked forward to an ice cold coke. Shout out to Chris for the bottle of frozen water whilst I waited outside the Community Store with some cheeky Aboriginal kids hyped up on a jar of Nutella.

I had read about a small body of water about 15 km south of Bililuna called Nyarna (Stretch Lagoon). I still had about 200 kms to go but the lagoon would be the perfect place to unwind and wash off some of the Tanami dust.

21 February 2023

An Unexpected Pitstop

david.j.mccourt Australia, Uncategorized adventure, Australia, bikepacking, Biketouring, Cycle Touring, cycling, expedition, Red Centre

I was headed west towards the Aboriginal town of Ikuntji (Haasts Bluff) on the Namatjira-Kintore Link Road. After a pretty lumpy start and one unplanned jettison of my 10L water bladder, the road condition improved greatly and I was zooming along towards more magnificent mountains in the distance.

There were signs of brumbies everywhere with horse poo littered tracks leading into the bush. Keen to get to Papunya before the General Store closed, I skipped the town of Ikuntji. The store was surprisingly well stocked considering its remote location. The locals were either confused by my presence or nonchalantly said hello as they popped in to do their shopping. I topped up my fresh vegetables, enjoyed a chilled bottle of coke and hit the road again. I wanted to get a few more kilometres on the clock before dark and preferred to camp in the solace of the bush and away from civilisation.

The Outback treated me to a vibrant sunset paired with dark and moody clouds. Finding a campsite amongst the dense spinifex was a challenge but I finally came upon a spot that had been burnt out by a small bush fire with enough space for my tent.

The first twenty kilometres from Papunya had consisted of hard compacted dirt and made for some dreamy cycling. The next fifty would prove to be some of the most sandy and challenging of the trip to date. A pattern emerged, about two hundred metres of hard stuff would give way to small but significant sand dunes, with each one I found myself pushing the bike on foot through deep red sand for another fifty metres. It was slow going and hard work. A few four wheel drives passed me throughout the day – their passengers giving me a wave but also scratching their heads as to what the lunatic on a bike was doing out here.

My hard work was rewarded with glimpses of rocky outcrops rising above the desert oaks. I finally came upon my first feral camel. The Australian Outback is reportedly brimming with camels. They were imported to Australia from Afghanistan and British India during the 19th century and used during the colonisation of Central and Western Australia. The feral population are descendents of camels that were released after motorised transport replaced the use of camels in the Outback. I had been warned about aggressive bull camels but was unsure as to the true level of danger. Fortunately the one I came across was passive.

My next stop would be the Aboriginal town of Yuendumu. This would be my last official food and water supply for over six hundred kilometres in the Tanami Desert. I took my time in town to top up supplies, have a look in the Aboriginal art centre – Warlukurlangu Artists and to see if I could charge my power bank there. I had noticed a bit of rain was forecast. Heavy rain on dirt roads like the Tanami can be crippling and by the time I’d returned to the art centre the heavens had opened. Rain was plummeting from the sky in big fat drops and it looked to be a lot more than what was forecast. Frank, the friendly fella who let me charge my power bank at the art centre, suggested I speak to the manager, Gloria about staying for a few days whilst the rain passed and the roads dried.

A bit heavier than expected

Frank explained that before Covid, volunteers – usually backpackers, would come and stay for a few days to a few months at a time. It had felt like I’d lost a lot of the momentum of my expedition during my five weeks off the bike and at first I was keen to keep moving. But then I realised that this was exactly the type of experience I am seeking on this journey. Plus it is without a doubt much better to be stranded in town than out on the Tamami Track.

After a brief chat with the friendly Gloria it was arranged for me to stay in exchange for a couple of days of volunteering. I headed for the donga (an Aussie word for dorm-like accommodation) to settle in. The rain continued for the next day and I was glad to have the shelter of the centre.

My work consisted of priming canvas and touching up the black edges of stretched art. It was an awesome experience to watch the hustle and bustle of the art centre and the interactions of the staff and the artists. Many thanks again for having me folks!

My second day was nice and sunny and it looked like the road might be dry enough for me to continue in the morning. The following day the track was dry enough to continue as hoped. What a gift to experience life in an Outback town for a couple of days – roll on the Tanami!