Rory's From Billabongs to Bouncy Marsupials
05/15/2004
Hello - this is long but believe me, I've missed loads out .
A theme seems to be emerging across all countries when regular travellers
encounter a bike. One of " I Just don't know how you do it"
Well as long as it's kept a secret, the few of us who do go off on little
bicycle jaunts will continue to reap the benefits of really being in the
minority.
If you don't know what I'm talking about - read on.
Leaving Singapore I'd had my work cut out getting my bike and kit on the plane
without complaints from security about gunpowder and petrol in my bags. I really
had tried to cover every aspect of potential problem but had bewilderingly
overlooked the obvious problem of my bike having mud on the tyres.
The importing of anything that may harbour harmful life forms onto Australian
soil is strictly controlled because of the damage caused to indigenous species
by aliens. Examples of these are Buffalo, Camels, Rabbits and most high profile
in the NT (Northern territory), the Cane Toad. This was deliberately released
2000 km away to tackle the problem of the cane beetle. Unfortunately the beetle
lives safely inside the cane, the toad subsequently changed it's diet to the
very much loved and unassuming green tree frog. OK that's just a frog but the
toad also happens to be very poisonous and very promiscuous and is now sweeping
across the territory killing indigenous snakes, birds and the pride (and income)
of the land, the poor old Crocodiles. The laws continue within the country where
you're not even allowed to carry fresh fruit or veg across some state borders.
Back to immigration.
I didn't know all this at the time otherwise I would surely have protested
strongly that I that I was not harbouring any Buffalo OR Camel in my luggage but
of course the problem was the mud.
Where had I been?
"I'd just arrived from the UK"
Where had the bike been?
"Oh it's been right across Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore...."
OH DEAR! this was going to be a real problem.
Dumb me suddenly had a brainwave "Oh, but it's been in storage for two years in
a warehouse and this mud is all from before then"
The look on the face of the immigration official changed immediately, " Oh,
that's alright then" she Chirped. "Off you go" and I did, accompanied by the
momentary thought I'd had of a anti bacterial bike cleaning squad jet washing
all the grease from my bottom bracket.
A week later, weighed down with far too much stuff since I'm starting in the
tropics and will encounter snow before Sydney, I set off from Darwin, the one
main aim for the day was to find some crocodiles.
This was accomplished the easy way by hopping on a "jumping crocodile cruise".
Without pontification on the subject, it was amazing. Crocs really can launch
half their body out of the water, they don't just hunt for food but anything
that's in their territory, including of course each other. They can reach 6
meters in length and weigh 1.5 tonnes. I saw a 4.5 meter (minus his two left
legs) and he was simply massive. The true wiliness of them was brought home when
I distracted the women holding the bait (on a fishing line) The crock had
previously shown no interest in the meat (kangaroo of course) even though she
had been bouncing it on the crocs nose. I spoke to the lady who diverted her
eyes from the meat which was a couple of feet from the croc. A fraction after
she looked away, the croc had the food. It had been watching her all the time,
not the bait. I got blamed of course, but I'm used to that.
A Roadhouse is a kind of modern oasis. The water is always brackish and the beer
very cold. After pitching the tent I wondered into the bar of my first ever
roadhouse to write my diary.
Typical stuff; pool table, jukebox, one token good looking barmaid (pregnant)
and about half a dozen pairs of heavy boots lined up along the bar, their owners
obviously trying, not to too obviously, ogle the barmaid (say that fast).
A band of sorts started to set up on the verandah. The big fella on the guitar,
wandered in, couldn't find the volume on the juke box, so just flipped the power
off. Mr Pool table man (who just lost his music money) wasn't as big as mr
guitar man, so the music stayed off.
The "sort of" band consisted of mr guitar, now with mouth organ as well as big
moustached Mr washboard (with brass curly bits on each corner). They sounded
alright if you like country music Oz style (Gunz, 'Unting and carz). I noticed
Mr washboard having trouble drinking his beer (using both hands) and realised
that he had 10 shot gun cartridges pushed hard onto his fingers, there was much
hilarity as he posed for me to take photo's of his hands.
I hit the hay at half-nine only to wake at midnight as the volume went up and
singing became a drunken slur.
Not quite fit enough for this level of riding, my legs were too stiff for an
early start so my 11am departure from the roadhouse required all anti sun
measures. With no exposed skin I expected to die from the heat but it really
proved quite doable, the main problem being sweat getting in my eyes and the
repetitive task of carefully rinsing the salt crystals from my expensive desert
glasses.
After a night cooking and camping in a mosquito infested clearing (only one
mossie bite despite not using any repellent) I headed on into Kakadu National
Park with wallabies hopping across the road, hawks everywhere and the occasional
white bellied sea Eagle (2nd largest bird in Oz). In fact there were tropical
birds everywhere but by far the most astonishing where the big black Cockatoos.
They were astonishing in their stupidity. Two birds sat on the road and took off
as I approached, landing 50 meters further on. After 3 50 meter hops they
alighted in a tree ahead. After I passed them they once again overtook me and
landed on the road. This repeated for about 3 km. Worse still they have the most
hideous squawk and despite being Cockatoos I nominate them for being the most
stupid birds in the world. Their white counterparts are far more elegant.
The most annoying birds are the crows. One morning in a camp site the hankering
for bacon and eggs was overwhelming. Minimum quantities purchasable were half a
pound of bacon and a dozen eggs. Having eaten all the bacon and 3 eggs, the best
bit, the fat was fried to a crisp and 6 eggs hard boiled as a snack for later. I
left everything cooling and joined my camping neighbours for a coffee. I was
only a few feet away but the bloody crows got the lot without anybody noticing.
I did however get an invite from the Doepel family to stay in Canberra.
The "capital" of Kakadu national park is Jabiru, a town proud of its
achievements especially in cleanliness. The 500 meters leading up to the town
centre has dozens of plaques stating the awards and achievement bestowed on the
town eg " 2nd runner up most improved NT primary school 1985"
Fishing here is really big. It's rare to see a large vehicle not towing
something and often this is a fishing boat.
Stu - a Batchelor from Queensland had it all. The flash 4WD, a house tent (2
fridges), boat and a couple of spare rods.
We set off at 7am and I soon got the hang of casting accurately and by some
miracle actually hooked a Barramundi. Unaware that you needed to use a net to
lift it into the boat, the bugger got away but you'll never believe how big it
was. It was mostly a quiet days fishing but I got an insight into ourselves by
the tour boats which would pull up nearby and give a commentary as to the rules
and regulations of fishing in the park while the tourists snapped pics of this
strange pasty white guy and smooth looking Aussie standing at each corner of a
speed boat.
Actually it was the standing that gave me the biggest fright of the day
(remember this is pure salty croc habitat and all limbs must stay inside the
boat always). So, in addition to the 50HP lump at the back, the boat had a
little electric motor at the front which was remotely controlled and steered
from anywhere onboard. So when Stu stepped on the "Amps" I was left teetering on
the back, arms flailing. Good for laughing about afterwards but anyway, if I'd
fallen in I doubt I'd even got wet before getting back into the boat. Anyway - a
big thanks to Stu for a great trip.
The danger from the crocs is hammered home constantly. They can't shoot crocs
who attack people, because that's what all crocs do. The worst ones are
relocated. It was with interest that I heard - first hand - how the aboriginal
kids deal with them.
In billabongs, beautiful for swimming these native kids keep a communal eye out
and have to scram when a croc enters. Their solution is to pelt it with rocks
every time it shows its head (they can submerge for over an hour) until it gives
up and leaves. Then they all jump back in.
Visiting the site of some of the oldest and fascinating aboriginal art in Aus
(some is claimed to be 30,000 years old) we (sml gp tourists) climbed to the top
of the escarpment where I learnt for the first time that this was where
Crocodile Dundee was filmed. As we stood there gazing at the stunning visa a
storm hit us from behind, the wind picked up very suddenly so while the Brits
and Aussies revelled in the painful hail like rain, a small group of Americans
squealed and daintily made their way down, sorry to my American friends - but it
really was most amusing.
Occasionally as cars overtake, they hoot. If they do this early it's silly
because I can hear them anyway, It's great if they hoot after they pass as a
support gesture but occasionally some idiots hoot as they pass with little
concept just how loud a car horn is. So, didn't I feel like a fool when I was
asked by an English group if people hooted because of the union flag I fly from
my pannier. It hadn't occurred to me that it was in fact the British who were
honking, not silly Aussies.
I am longing to see some wild snakes while camping but in the mean time I have
had to be content with pitching in a very remote location only to be visited by
7 of the most beautiful wild black horses. Not just the beauty but their
behaviour, individuality and apparent intelligence. They didn't come too close
but took a very keen interest in me and showed some disdain at my presence, in a
kind of horse like way, the flicking of the mayne and tail.
I am now in Katherine (you can tell it's a large place - there's a set of
traffic lights) and despite having ridden about 800km am only 300km from my
starting point because of the various excursions. I am staying with a wonderful
Lady called Miriam who is a keen cyclist ("I'm not like you" she said "I only do
about 100km a day"!) She lives here and for the last 4 days I've been fed,
entertained and introduced to some wonderful people. I've truly had a great
time, have learnt lots of new words, (Miriam would really like a "Twin Cab Ute",
for example). Now I have to hit the road for some proper riding, the legs are
good, the headwind is bad it's 1100 km to Alice and I really want to be there in
10 days. There is one stretch of nearly 200km of nothing coming up but my
camel-velo can carry 15 litres if necessary so things are looking good.
From the road south in the country where the big dipper's up-side-down and the
moon is backwards.
Love to All
Rory
My New Words:
Pash - Kiss
Ute - Utility vehicle (pick up truck)
Ringer - sort of cow boy
Donga - simple accommodation
Fair Dinkum - Cor Blimey
_ _ ______________________________________________________ _ _
Keeping the adventure alive and this website running takes more then just my
time and effort.
If you find this website interesting or enjoyable, perhaps even useful, please
show your support and Donate.
©2026 Daryl Fortney - www.GroovyDomain.com