“Fuck, fucking fuck, fuckerdefuckfuckfuck!” The sudden rain shower turns the hard packed gravel road instantly into wet, slippery mud and the bike is slipping and sliding around. There’s no traction and no control and I’m surely going down. The old bikers adage “when in trouble, power through” doesn’t work as I have no grip. The profile on my tires fills with mud and I’m basically riding on slicks. The bike slithers to the side of the road and miraculously I manage to keep it upright. When I get off the bike I slip in the mud and go down hard. I’ve let go of the bike so it doesn’t crash on me, which is a thin silver lining to this muddy mess. Luckily I’m only 25km from William Creek which has a pub and a hotel but don’t know if I will make it in this mud any time soon.
I wait around for someone to come along but the Oodnadatta track is not only one of the greatest outback trials in Australia, it’s also one of the loneliest. I have come across one car and two motorbikes for the last 200km and they all went the other way. There’s no choice, I’ve to get on the bike and move on. I take off with both feet off the pegs, paddling trough the mud like Fred Flintstone at 10km/h. The rear tire slithers even at this low speed and the front tire has lost all function as a steering device, just following the muddy ruts in the road. “What the hell am I doing here?” I think and then realise that I’ve been in a similar situation before:
17 August 2010. Wupperthal, Western Cape, South Africa “Fuck this, I had enough. What the hell am I doing here?” I’m sitting next to my bike, lying on its side in the gravel. This is the 3rd time I dropped it in five kilometres. I just don’t know how to ride over these rocks and am about to throw in the proverbial towel. I’ve joined a bike tour from Cape Town to Victoria Falls lead by Charlie Boorman, the wild haired, moustachioed guy of Long Way Round fame. It’s a fancy tour with comfortable BMW GS 1200 bikes, a support truck carrying our luggage and overnight stops in luxury hotels and resorts. No prior off-road experience required, the folder said. Perfect for me then, I thought, being a bit of a spoiled traveller.
Now only on day two of ten, I’m ready to give up. John, one of the tour guides drives up to me in the support truck and urges me on. “Get it into 1st gear and paddle through, it gets better after 5k or so. And get a move on, everybody is waiting for you”. Yes, John isn’t really know for his bedside manners… I get on the bike again and try to follow his instructions. To no avail, I still slither around like a snake on cocaine. “This is bullshit, why don’t you ride the bike and I drive your bloody support truck!” I shout at John. But he’s long gone, most probably thinking what he got himself into guiding these feeble, weak, middle aged weekend riders…
I struggle on and come across two other riders who went down and Billy Biketruck, one of the other guides. “What the motherfucking fuck, Billy. How am I suppose to ride this stuff?” He tells me to get in 2nd or even 3rd and power through while sitting as far back as possible to put weight on the rear wheel. And he’s off, powering through the gravel and rocks with no effort. “Easy for you to say, you bloody grey haired, goateed Geordie mofo, you do this shit for a living, you bastard. Get a real job.” I mutter under my breath, hating him, the stupid BMW bikes, the a-hole in the support vehicle and the whole of Wupperthal in one big sweep of resentment.
I’m being passed by two 65 year old Brits of the same group, who – although gingerly – are coping with the gravel and the rocks quite well. I can’t give up if they’re cracking on, so I get on it again. After a while the rocky path turns into deep sandy tracks, which are a completely different challenge. I struggle on, sweating like a pig in the 30 degree heat. I finally make it to the actual Wupperthal village as the last of the group and fall off the bike a sweaty, filthy and angry mess. “Who the fuck thought this was a good choice for a group of inexperienced riders?” I shout at no one particular. I’m not getting any sympathy from the group. Instead Boorman tells everyone to get on the bikes as we’re behind schedule. No rest for me then…
Two years later, after riding from Johannesburg to Addis Ababa on my KTM 990 and spending hundreds of hours in the Dubai desert on a 450, I’m back in Wupperthal to ride the valley again. This time the human head sized rocks I recall from two years ago, turn out to be dime sized pebbles. And the meter deep sand tracks nothing more than a light dusting. I ride the trail effortlessly and the drama of two years prior is instantly forgotten. Still don’t like Billy Biketruck very much though…
It stops raining and I pray to the outback gods and spirits that the track dries up soon. But it’s too wet and it doesn’t improve over time. On the contrary, the mud seems to get only stickier. After 20 minutes, 2 kilometres and dropping the bike twice, I hear the sound of engines approaching behind me. Two flatbed LandCruisers are approaching through the mud and rain at high speed. They’re doing at least 100km/h and are fishtailing all over the track. Looks like fun… I wave at them and the second truck hits the brakes, comes to a stop and reverses towards me. There’s a whole family in there but only the driver gets out. A young guy appropriately dressed in flip-flops and a white VB vest, asks if I need any help. I tell him I should be able to make it to William Creek by myself but that I just wanted make sure someone knows I’m out here. “All right mate”, he says “We’re stopping in William Creek and will come and get you if you’re not there in two hours”. That’s all I need and I thank him for his help. With a loud “No worries, mate!” he gets back in his truck and takes off like he’s on fire.
I get back on the bike and struggle on. After a kilometre my front wheels seizes. There’s so much mud between the tire and the mudguard that the wheel is stuck. I get my tools out and remove the mudguard. Within minutes the radiator is covered in thick gooey mud and combined with the ultra low speeds, the bike is overheating again. It’s now also dark and the rain has returned, so my happiness is complete. The thought of a warm, dry pub with tasty beers and fine food only 20km away, motivates me onwards. I tell myself, “You wanted adventure and now you have adventure, so shut the fuck up and get on with it”. With only 10 kilometres to go I see headlights approaching from the direction of William Creek. It’s one of the two LandCruisers that passed me earlier. The two guys have dropped off their families at the pub and rocked up to see how I was doing. In true Aussie spirit they brought a couple of cold beers as well. I have two XXXX’s and with the alcohol warming up my muscles and clouding my judgement, I power through the last 10km in less than 10 minutes. Billy Biketruck would have been proud…
short stories about a rather long trip 