I think I spend the first half hour getting out of Sydney. I really hate that part but more or less I get it right and finally get to cross the Sydney Harbour Bridge. It's not a spectacular experience, it's just a bridge, and I didn't expect anything else, but it has been a dream of mine to do and it felt great.
I'm taking it easy from now on. It is about 900 and something kilometres to Brisbane and I plan to just drive until I don't want to any more, and camp wherever. Preferably in a Caravan park but not necessarily.
The first day of driving to Brisbane is pretty uneventful, I just want to put some distance behind me so I go by the Highway as far as it will take me. As I have done so many times before I stop and take a break every 160 kilometre or so, and fuel up everything, my bike, my camelbag, my self. Every time I stop for a break I take out my earplugs, and then I spend eons putting them back in. I hate these earplugs, need to find some better ones.
It's getting hotter and hotter, and humid, I am so happy I didn't cheap out when I got the gear, these pants and the jacket are super great at letting the air pass through, just sucks the air tend to be hot as well. With the camelbag I can make sure I never really to get thirsty, and that makes all the difference, I'm sweating, but coping just fine. I guess I still remember the 50 degree Celsius in Egypt. My personal comfort limit I think.
At around six I am as far as Bellina. I have been pushing the limit this time for how far I can get on a tank full, 220 kilometres so far since last refuel and no lights as come on. Not bad, not bad at all.
I pass by a few caravan parks that are full, but finally find one that isn't. I pay the man his 26 bucks, a bit much I reckon and drive on in. I make a round to find the tent area… there are none. All I see are crappy looking trailers. One after another they look like they should have been burned and buried long time ago. One has an umbrella on the roof because there is a hole in the ceiling. Plants are growing on them, and in them, and over them. Could people actually live in those things?
Turns out the answer is yes, people do live there. No tents anywhere, only those stationary trailers. I begin to realise what kind of place this is.
I find a spot of grass and go through the routine, tent apires in no time, and so does the mozzy bites, those little bloodsucking devils. I see a person leave on of the trailers for the bathroom. It's not particular dark but it looks just like a man in woman's closes. Skinny but the face looks manly. Odd. While roaming around in my tent I overhear some people talking down the road. Something about a bong bottle. Someone named Karen wants to borrow it. There is a dispute but eventually they give and this Karen person walks away with the bong. At least I guess she does, can't see, not that I really care to. Something very suspect about this place.
I charge my phone a bit in the laundry room, or the room that has some washing machines in it, because in all respect to the idea of clearing something, this room has not been since the war.
I notice the man-faced maybe-woman walk to her/his trailer. It's right next to where I set up camp. I walk in circles a bit, inside the room, outside the room, back in again, just waiting for the phone to get a bit of charge. Walking out of the room I happen to spot man-face walk towards my bike, see me, pause for a second, turnaround and walk back into the trailer. Right, the phone has changed enough, back to my tent.
It's still fairly early so I watch a movie on my laptop, write some blog stuff and finally go to bed. Can't really sleep though. It's warm and I can't help but keep an eye on my bike. This place gives me the creeps.
Next morning I wake up to the sound of a small argument. A woman knocking on man-face’s door and yells “KAREN! KAREN DO YOU HAVE THE BONG BOTTLE?”. Aha, Man-face is Karen, and so not a man.She also does not have the bong. I get up and start packing quickly. Man-fa.. I mean Karen sits outside her trailer and looks at me with red sacky eyes and a posture that has spared to expense in looking like it has completely given up on life. She asks me if I drive a motorcycle and points to the BMW. “Uhm… yees” I reply, for a moment considering just saying no for the laughs, but its too early for jokes. “Do you smoke the pipe?” she enquires. I have to think about this one for a second, and then replies “nah”. I continue packing but short after she asks “do you wanna buy a camera?”, “a what now?”, “a camera, you know, for pictures”. What on Earth is she on about at too-early-o-clock in the morning. “No thank you” I mutter and smile awkwardly. “Got any cigarettes?” she asks, “for the love of God please shut up” is what I want to say, but instead I just say “No sorry I don’t smoke”. “Just get this packing done with” I think to my self.
Finally I'm done and I saddle up and get out of there. On the way out I feel a little bad for being so judgemental towards these people. What if this is all they have, not something to joke about. That thought stays in my head, for exactly the 30 seconds it takes me to get on the road and feel the wind again. Freedom.
Coming into Brisbane I get a bit confused with the motorways. There are so many of them here. It would also seem like I have come to my first Tool road, but how does it work? Will there be a toll booth or, but I don't need to complete that thought because signs along the road tells me the answer. It's all automatic based cameras, and there is a phone number I can use to pay within three days. Seems easy.
I find my way and locate Michael, my cousin in Toowong on a very steep hill. He comes out as he hears the bike and opens the garage gate. My bike will fit well in here, the place is full of motorcycles. Michael hands me a beer and welcomes me to Brisbane. I feel right at home.
I'm taking it easy from now on. It is about 900 and something kilometres to Brisbane and I plan to just drive until I don't want to any more, and camp wherever. Preferably in a Caravan park but not necessarily.
 |
| View at small detour on the way to Brisbane |
It's getting hotter and hotter, and humid, I am so happy I didn't cheap out when I got the gear, these pants and the jacket are super great at letting the air pass through, just sucks the air tend to be hot as well. With the camelbag I can make sure I never really to get thirsty, and that makes all the difference, I'm sweating, but coping just fine. I guess I still remember the 50 degree Celsius in Egypt. My personal comfort limit I think.
At around six I am as far as Bellina. I have been pushing the limit this time for how far I can get on a tank full, 220 kilometres so far since last refuel and no lights as come on. Not bad, not bad at all.
I pass by a few caravan parks that are full, but finally find one that isn't. I pay the man his 26 bucks, a bit much I reckon and drive on in. I make a round to find the tent area… there are none. All I see are crappy looking trailers. One after another they look like they should have been burned and buried long time ago. One has an umbrella on the roof because there is a hole in the ceiling. Plants are growing on them, and in them, and over them. Could people actually live in those things?
Turns out the answer is yes, people do live there. No tents anywhere, only those stationary trailers. I begin to realise what kind of place this is.
 |
| Didn't shoot man-face, but did see this frog on a rock |
I charge my phone a bit in the laundry room, or the room that has some washing machines in it, because in all respect to the idea of clearing something, this room has not been since the war.
I notice the man-faced maybe-woman walk to her/his trailer. It's right next to where I set up camp. I walk in circles a bit, inside the room, outside the room, back in again, just waiting for the phone to get a bit of charge. Walking out of the room I happen to spot man-face walk towards my bike, see me, pause for a second, turnaround and walk back into the trailer. Right, the phone has changed enough, back to my tent.
It's still fairly early so I watch a movie on my laptop, write some blog stuff and finally go to bed. Can't really sleep though. It's warm and I can't help but keep an eye on my bike. This place gives me the creeps.
Next morning I wake up to the sound of a small argument. A woman knocking on man-face’s door and yells “KAREN! KAREN DO YOU HAVE THE BONG BOTTLE?”. Aha, Man-face is Karen, and so not a man.She also does not have the bong. I get up and start packing quickly. Man-fa.. I mean Karen sits outside her trailer and looks at me with red sacky eyes and a posture that has spared to expense in looking like it has completely given up on life. She asks me if I drive a motorcycle and points to the BMW. “Uhm… yees” I reply, for a moment considering just saying no for the laughs, but its too early for jokes. “Do you smoke the pipe?” she enquires. I have to think about this one for a second, and then replies “nah”. I continue packing but short after she asks “do you wanna buy a camera?”, “a what now?”, “a camera, you know, for pictures”. What on Earth is she on about at too-early-o-clock in the morning. “No thank you” I mutter and smile awkwardly. “Got any cigarettes?” she asks, “for the love of God please shut up” is what I want to say, but instead I just say “No sorry I don’t smoke”. “Just get this packing done with” I think to my self.
Finally I'm done and I saddle up and get out of there. On the way out I feel a little bad for being so judgemental towards these people. What if this is all they have, not something to joke about. That thought stays in my head, for exactly the 30 seconds it takes me to get on the road and feel the wind again. Freedom.
 |
| Steep hill in Toowong |
I find my way and locate Michael, my cousin in Toowong on a very steep hill. He comes out as he hears the bike and opens the garage gate. My bike will fit well in here, the place is full of motorcycles. Michael hands me a beer and welcomes me to Brisbane. I feel right at home.
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