The Bruce Highway.

The Bruce Highway and the landscape through which it passes are not things of beauty. There is a lot of this:

I rode 720 kms today (this post written Tuesday and sent Wednesday).  Grey overcast skies, rain and a solid sou' easterly wind were the order of the day.  The Bruce Highway is the last resting place for a lot of roos.  I rode on in hope that today would be a quiet day on that front, which it was.  I did see a couple of  young roos on a park in the middle of Agnes Water, but they were clearly town residents and don't count.

At a roadside rest area 130kms or so south of Mackay, I met Greg, sheltering from the rain and pondering where to camp for the night.  I rode a further 250kms for the day from the rest area, and Greg decided against pedalling on to St Lawrence due to considerations of daylight and a dirt road. St Lawrence was 14kms away. 

Greg left Perth 9 months ago on a pushbike odyssey.  He has a further 8 months or so on the road.  Apart from ticking off the compass extremities of the country (the easternmost point at Byron Bay, the most southerly point in Tasmania, the tip of Cape York and some point around Shark Bay in WA), Greg has wandered down every side road which has taken his fancy, and even a few which have not.  He has not shied away from dirt roads, alpine hill climbs or remote areas.

He carries all the gear he needs to camp every night.

 He made a casing to completely enclose his chain, sprockets and derailleur, to keep the dust out.  Excellent idea.  I hope you are taking notes Alan H.

And the final touch is a nose cone on the whole rig which Greg has found to produce less wind resistance than the plastic water bottle which it replaced. Everything I know about aerodynamics says he has to be right.  But unlike those very expensive  single purpose nosecones on propeller hubs on light aircraft, you can wash your face and do your dishes in the blue model.

Greg has done some other long bike rides - I think this is his fourth.  But I gather none quite as long as this.  I don't know what his mission is, or even if he has one.  But I sensed he was very contented on the road he has chosen to travel.

My ride is the antithesis of Greg's ride in just about every way.  Yet there was also some common ground. 

My plan for the day had been to ride from 1770 to Mackay (I know, this time/space thing is messing with my head too).  There are joys in not planning ahead when on the road, but finding out that there is a mining expo in Mackay and that every bed, cabin and camp site for miles around is booked out, is not one of them. 

I did take the time to photograph the Hotel Whitsunday in Mackay, which is a place of some pleasant memories for me.  Sadly, age has not treated it well.  I didn't linger.  Revisiting towns in which you once lived, after some decades, is like seeing an old friend who refuses to recognise you.  Good places are worth revisiting.  Good times don't have geographical coordinates. 

There being no room at the inn, and a marked absence of guiding stars, I made the decision as dusk fell to ride another 120kms to Proserpine, where courtesy of a Google search on the iPhone, I had a bed booked for the night. Having ridden 600kms already, this was not plan A.  Riding a motorbike at night is not fun and should be avoided.  The world narrows to the road ahead.  Left and right of the highway was reduced to the occasional sniff of sugar cane and roadkill.  It rained for most of this ride. Oncoming road trains were flanked by a bow wave of water and road grime, which was a bit like flying through a cloud at night, but with white posts to your left and traffic on a reciprocal heading 2 metres to the right. 

Pleasure in a meal is at least in part a function of how hungry you are and how well earned it was.  The fresh red emperor and excellent salad which I managed to procure just before the kitchen closed in Proserpine was a significant pleasure on both counts.