Dazz Does Darwin

"Dazz" (Darren Evans) has a Le MansMk3 which almost looks like a Mk1 and theres some interesting photos of the mods he's done here. https://picasaweb.google.com/2004owene/MotoGuzzi?feat=email#
But he has honoured us with a bit of a story about his recent trip to Darwin on a DL650 Suzuki, complete with interesting creek crossings and encounters with Irish Barmaids.

Here's the unedited version with links to photos here: https://picasaweb.google.com/ZX9Darren/DarwinTrip?authkey=Gv1sRgCN7O593ej5Wm3QE&feat=email#

The trip – Cairns to Darwin and return

Day1 - After packing, chucking 50% away and repacking, sleepless night – all excited!  That and the two cop cars, 3 giant cops, police dog and only getting to watch 20 mins of State of Origin after girlfriends two teenagers decided to inject a bit of drama into proceedings… friggin grinning copper asked me how I was enjoying the game, and see ya next time….only if ya on duty mate!  I left cairns 5.00 am, got to Kairi at 7.00 am frozen.  Maybe hot weather RallyCross Dri rider jacket not the go…mucked about getting spark plugs and other stuff for a few hours, answering questions from confused nomaders “your from here and you’ve only made it this far?” then made it to Normanton via dead straight bitumen. Buggered about hopelessly with new tent, made pasta and tuna dish, drank six beers, ring GF, I’m in the shit for trying to watch footy instead of two spoilt self indulgent twerps, my suggestion of possible punishments unheeded, I went to sleep.

Day 2 – still taking it easy, sitting on 110-120 on big knobbied TKC continental tyres, thru Burketown – more of a ville fellas,  (got a front tyre remover made up by bending bolt with correct head to fit in stud), good barra burger, people talk like yokels – hey I feel at home!!! Frigging tiny road signs! Savannah way my arse – inch high signs with consequences of long walk back…Tried to go back way to Lawn Hill, defeated by crocky looking river crossing. Locals confused at Doomagee, “course its open, its only 2ft deep”….everyone runs snorkel fourbies….they did suggest other back way via Broome, Perth etc…180 odd km of dirt riding wasted…lesson learned. Tourists are for fun. Made it to Hells Gate after further 100 km of intermittently sandy, bulldusty riding, road actually that bad locals ride beside it, not on it….thought had occurred to me too! Couple of real bad tank slappers, once slapped all the way down to running speed! And I mean fat bloke speed not Usain Bolt.  Knackered by 4.00 pm, asleep by 8.00. Pasta and tuna…No alcohol for hours in either direction, government makes licensing so tough lots don’t bother…no wonder they call it Hells Gate. Buggered about hopelessly with tent…

Day 3 – Left Hells Gate servo at 7.30 am, nearly hit roo then startled looking dingo within first 3 mins. Even flying doctor is min 2hrs from runway, so dropped speed and opened eyes. Road no better, flat out at 60! River crossings galore, only one with culvert. Walked most of em, so cold, wet and wondering if the next 320 km before Boroloola (308 or so of dirt) was a good idea…NT border and road improved a bit, now we are talking, 90-110, but still with sandy patches and bulldust sinks, only warning slightly whiter colour. Grateful to old lady at Hells Gate for that tip, but had sussed it day before. They are about the size of a bathtub, and  deep full of silty sandy dust – no riding out of that one. Only takes one mistake out here, didn’t see anyone till 10.30 - -it’s a long time to lie in the dust before being photographed by rogue pensioners!  Just before lunch and only 100 km or so to go of dirt….trepidation mounts, had been warned Robinson River would be dodgy. It was. Oh shit, dunno if I have enough fuel to go back. I stopped bike and investigated v. fast flowing river – had trouble walking in it. Choice was small rocks and deep, or big rocks and shallow. Went shallow, got forced down stream a little bit with water against motor, rear tyre struggling for grip, look out another foot right and its 4-5ft deep at least!! Bike topples over at walking speed, got kill switch off on way down and jumped up to lift off lower bar with both hands immediately. Oh shit its HEAVY!! 50 kg of water flooded gear, could only juuust keep its head out of the water….back giving out….luckily, the ringer came to my rescue. He was about to drive off when I got there, but smiling, he went for his camera. Got the shot too! Together we pick her up, but no way could we have pushed it out. So, holding breath, hit starter and prayed. Oh thank you god of heavy dual purposeness bikes it started. Had only about 2ft of difficult section to go, so rode out with no trouble. So fuckin close. Thanked ringer,  had cuppa and caught breath for 20 mins. EVERYTHING had been underwater. Even kill switch. No option but to ride to Boroloola, she didn’t miss a beat surprisingly, next few creek crossings were character building!, Ya know that bloody ringer raced to next nasty crossing and was standing there grinning!!! “Not this time champ!” I buy 5L oil at $70 at every chance (instead of $20) and continually dump it every hour or two. Took 6 changes before not watery. Headlights blown, night riding out, buggered anyway, so camped beside road near Cape Crawford and made fire to dry out my stuff. Camera and phone looked sick but dried out mostly ok. Slept beside fire…bugger motorhomes, had two pull up next to my camp, how much shit do you need? Probably lots if you have a female.  If I had of made it over that creek, I would say you don’t need 21” front wheels etc….but now I am not so sure! Maybe, maybe not. Yamaha has a 1200 adventure bike with 19” front wheel, surely they’d know? Personally, since DL can spin rear at nearly any speed on dirt, not sure if 1200cc is necessary…my dirt bike has 21” and just rolls over far worse than piddly river rocks.  But certainly I should have unloaded all my gear first, found the big rock and chosen line more carefully, and I was considerably chastened by experience. If ringer hadn’t been there, would have had to strip gear off bike while it was underwater. Can’t see 10 mins underwater being so easy to restart….while looking for croc…hours back or forward…to bugger all…self reliance is the rule out there. RAC WHO? Apparently a BMW guy had sat there for two days dewatering his GS the week before. Should have bought a DL mate!  Or carried a ringer….

Day3 – bitumen all the way to Darwin. Abandoned attempt to do the 338 km without fuel Boroloola to stuart HWY past roper river, had been told road worse and would get thru from Hells gate “no worries”, so discretion better part of valour etc… wimped it.  Front knobby handling road kliks ok, but the constant 140 was a bit much for rear. Swam at thermal pools at Mataranka. Examined tyre for hundredth time. Not chunking, but wearing oddly.  Still a few thousand in it, but I was a few thousand more than that from home, and apart from Darwin, I didn’t fancy my chances for tyres. Booked in to backpackers for $30 night in center of town, knackered, dumped stuff in room full of disconcerted looking hot pommy backpackers.  Eh? Its co-ed! Sooo tired, feeling broke went to Coles for supplies and had a sandwich for tea. 200 mad Irishmen cheered the weird arse gaelic football final at the pub – blokes were bouncing off the roof. I tell ya, we’ve been taken over by pasty weird sounding poms. Most remote places full of em. Least they speak the language.  Sort of.

Day 4 Next day attempted to find a bike shop using my holistic ride around likely areas approach. Nothin. Gave up and went to Crocasaurus world and did full ooh ahh tourist thing. Watched sunset at Menindi beach. Went to open air movie theatre, watched unfathomable Russian movie in impossibly romantic setting. Probably less romantic since not actually with female.  Certainly less appropriate.  Drank a few beers in a backpacker pub. Huge pub feed for tea. Cookie loved my foodgasm noises – sold out of parmas apparently due to moi.

Day 5 found a bike shop! No, tomorrow at soonest. Frig, not ordering brain surgery mate! Ok, went to pretty good museum, got to experience cyclone Tracey sound – eerie -  and whiled away 3 hours or so. Even looked at art while following hot asian chick about.  Got back to room to find young pommy bloke all bummed out about sharing Wicked Van with 3 hotties for 4 months. Shouted him beers  in hope of orgy stories –denied again!- and played pool until we were both feeling no pain. Went to bed  and slept it off before made total idiot of self, woke at 10 pm, blearily apologised to his girlfriend, he made a git of himself with random statements at her new job, not to know pommies are allergic to beer! - packed stuff for exit stage left in am. Said goodbyes to hot backpackers. Sighed wistfully. Bunkbeds – so near and yet so fuckin dreamin far.

Day 6 new tyre fitted, a roady rear,  headed to Litchfield NP. Checked water falls out on way in – SOOO bloody busy didn’t bother taking gear off. Should have just photographed backpackers….Went to campground at 2pm, bought six pack, sat in pool talking to young couple taking year off jobs to drag family around in a circle. Office type debating worthiness of manual labour.  He’ll get his. Try watermelons ya athlete.  More daz cooking. Sigh. Pasta and tuna. Buggered about with tent.  Friggin tempted to sleep on top of it.

Day 7 – up early, packed and at Florence Falls before anyone else. Magic. 5 mins later first arrivals. Oh well. Next time they’ll know not to sneak up on a man in daggy underwear.  Know how Janet Jackson felt now. Good swim! Experience the joy that is Humpty Doo (Humpty Don’t), toss Kakadu in the too bloody far, too bloody expensive too many rules basket, pity had dumped knobby coz think if ya could have done dirt it would be less busy? Next time fer sure. Stopped at Edith Falls for a swim, then on to Katherine Gorge. Boat ride available? Yep, walk 100 m down path to see what fuss is, see flying fox colony instead. Dunno what people whinging about, smell alright to me! Hmm might be time for a shower…back to take boat trip – nope booked out! Still want to camp? Nope!! Ride down road, get chopper flight for $180 for 10 mins. Brilliant! Pilot chucks it about a bit – “usually got 3 big blokes in it – woo hoo!”.Then hoop off down to Daly Waters. Best feeds in the world, and cheeky irish barmaids. Drink 5  beers in time for aforementioned Irish barmaid to say “feck!”, big tea, off to bed. Have a natter to ex navy guy who hopes I don’t snore…how fuckin close didja pitch ya tent then? He proceeds to read instructions for tent and hey presto its brilliant. Anyone can do it with instructions, ya only read them after all else fails….military types suffer with my type. He whinges at my 5am wake up fart!! Hey, if its alright for sparrows! Still, shouts me some water – if ya town is named after water, how come its friggin undrinkable? Wave goodbye to pet marauding pigs. Regret not sleeping on barmaid, she looked softer than my bit of rubber. Whingier but.  England is CLOSE to Ireland after all.

Day 8- 1000+ km day to MT Isa, cold, windy, overcast in bits, dull. Try sitting on 160, coz “with speed things wots far away get closer sooner”.  Copyright Fred Gassit. Get 11 km/litre out of whats called petrol out there. 22 litre tank, 260 km between fuel. Oh crap, sitting on 110 behind semis to make sure not running out in middle of nowhere. New wet weather gear fails at first use, thank you RJays, your usual quality. Get room, get Wagyu beef (its not), get one beer into me, spend 1 minute watching battery humans feeding coins into a slot for no apparent pleasure,  and read myself to sleep with book about a drunken yobbo in NT adventures. Fall asleep dreaming about being aforementioned yobbo…hey, all this natural ability can’t be for nothing!

Day 9 – 800 km to Georgetown, god its dull riding, still I have a low pleasure threshold, only 4.00pm but been dodging roos for nearly an hour, had 3 close calls, including one clown who runs beside my panic braking front wheel, speeds up, cuts in front, skids out and has eyes like dinner plates as front wheel whizzes past his nose by a few inches -  and seen at least 40 loitering with similar intent, + the cattle, who mostly seem fairly au fait with the whole scene. Camp, go to pub, cook tea, bugger about with tent – what DID I do two days ago to make it so good? Do I need to carry a childproof tent? I talk to bloke who rode DR250 from Brisvegas and got 10 litres into 9 litre tank out west, (evaporation obviously), marvel at anyone who could sit on 100 all day (he worked for main roads or something - if we can save one young life its worth it – but I’m OLD and I’ve been doing this shit for 28 years, go save someone deserving and stop fining me ya prick!!) go back to pub, bribe barmaid to serve after closing, shout everyone within 100m a drink, back to tent, DR man won’t talk to me now, thank stars, wake up hungover and broke. Vaguely remember accepting job offer, cuddling a guard dog, bribing someone with bottle of JD  I had bought for $70 after hours not to call cops, lost thongs. All in all a good night.….get out of town ASAP…its why I buy fuel BEFORE I drink.  Oh and if a campground nazi tells ya to park under that big tree, don’t, feign idiocy (I do it like a dwarf does short) its probably full of cockatoos or bats, and they verily and forsooth shall shit all over you and your stuff. Tourists are for fun remember.

Day10 – 400 km  or so shakily to kairi, eat big burger somewhere, glad they stabbed it with a wooden skewer, think I would have lost that fight, rainy last 40 kliks, only bloody rain of trip. Unpack bike, one beer, grunt at fellow denizens,  fall asleep at 2.30pm. bit over 7000 km, so short cut must cut a fair bit off, coz map says 7000km cairns to Darwin, and kairi only 90 kliks from cairns, and oh well add it up elmer.  

Lessons learnt. You can’t rollerskate in a buffalo herd. Never call an Irish barmaid English, but an English barmaid will forgive you – well, will continue to serve you…which is all ya need. Carry lots of cash – bribe extravagantly at any sign of trouble, or undue sobriety, they probably haven’t seen a pineapple in years. Never call a redneck a peasant. Well, not one ya can’t punch out. Or me. Never take ya thongs off when ya pissed. There are no cops more than 50 km from any major town in NT who aren’t busy dealing with real shit – so go Cannonball Run on that shit. Just don’t whine when ya get to push your bike 50 km into town.  Or pay $2 litre for feck knows what they call fuel. Carry more water. Less clothes. No towel. Cableties, wire, duct tape, decent pliers and puncture repair stuff. Leave room for carrying beer. Take 3 cans at all times, two for fire extinguisher, if they don’t work, drink the third. Watch fuel economy, I normally get 500+ kliks a 22 litre tank, but perhaps water logged K&N filter didn’t help as seems to have righted itself now I am back in jackboot police state. Standard paper filter job would probably have let go and stuffed proceedings. A bashplate could save your arse and your crankcase. I’ll buy one now. Stash spare key and enough money to get you to civilization on the bike. That means a capital city in the NT.  I’ll bring my own fuckin tyres next time, so I don’t waste 50% of my holiday farting about in motorcycle emporiums waiting to be served by disinterested pox doctors clerks.  When did shops start charging $100 an hour for aforementioned clerks with tools on minimum wage – didn’t this used to be in the price?  Didn’t they used to do up all the bolts and check brakes after fitment? Even put the thing on with the arrow facing forward?  After a 4 hour wait? Dreaming.

All information in this rant is probably no better than 60% accurate judging by my past academic results.  And I studied for that shit. So don’t blame me when its 309 km to Boroloola and you have to push your Bavarian Masterpiece Wankenmobile past hordes of grinning yokels. Ya should have bought a Guzzi anyway. Maybe NTX650 territory more than Stelvio? Be interested to see how these walrus sized beasties like GS1200 and 1200 Tenere etc would go across the Robinson River….I love my MK3, and there is no way my baby is going into a river crossing unless its portaged by nubiles.  Trained nubiles at that. There was never any point when I wasn’t willing to leave my  DL650 and hitch out if absolutely necessary -  after 77 000 km together, it knows the drum. For my Mk3 I would disembowel innocent grey nomads and their charming faux Victorian influenced caravan interior to deliver home safely…For the DL its Maintenance – yes, loving, - NO! Its so ugly I have to sidle up sideways. Still, they reckon owners and dogs look alike….and she always gets me home.  Just not off….