The North Coast of NSW

It finally feels as though I am closer to the equator. But it was otherwise yesterday morning.

I departed Newcastle in Melbourne conditions - rain and 11 degrees C.  The rain and low cloud persisted for about 150kms.  Then as if riding out from under a roof, I emerged from under the distinct northern edge of the dark cloud mass to blue skies.  The temperature climbed slowly with every km north, and settled down at a pleasant 18C for the last couple of hundred kms.  I was in the big river country, home of rivers such at the Clarence, Richmond and Macleay.  The paddocks are knee deep in springy tangled grass, the western horizon a silhouette of mountain ranges shaped like nothing in Victoria, and the sweet smell of sugar cane fills the air.

Evidence that I am getting closer to the equator

One of the pleasures of travelling alone is that other travellers seem to feel entirely comfortable striking up a conversation with a solitary motorbike rider.  Take Max for example, who I met at a roadside rest area just south of Kempsey, having a cup of tea with his wife.  Max wanted to talk 'Beemers', which he apparently rode for many years.  Max proudly told me that his membership number in the Ulysses Motorbike Club was 844.  I know very little of this club, but the context suggested he was a very early member.  And so Max and I talked Beemers and others things for a while. 

Max, Ulysses Club Member # 844

Others engage in more economical forms of communication.  When passing through Sydney, I was parked in multi-lane traffic at lights and could see a big Kawasaki in my rear vision mirror.  The rider was studying the back of my bike, which includes on the top box my blog address (containing the words 'R1200GS around Australia').   When the traffic moved again, he accelerated hard and passed me in an adjacent lane.  Continuing to look straight ahead, he simply bipped his horn and gave me a thumbs up with his gloved left hand as he disappeared in the Sydney way, lane splitting, accelerating and braking hard, for some illusory time gains, or possibly just for fun.

Max recommended that I sample a pie at Fredo's pie shop at Frederickton, just north of Kempsey.  I did sample the equivalent of a party pie, which left me somewhere between indifferent and regretful.  Interestingly Fredo's boasts crocodile pies amongst its fare.

Now I am not entirely persuaded by the whole karma thing.  But it does seem to me that as I intend to wade through a few rivers up in the Gulf country checking depth before crossing on the bike, it ill-behoves me to eat the mortal remains of the deceased brethren of the verymuchalive keepers of the water holes and river crossings.  While not necessarily guaranteeing me immunity from crocattack, it just might be that in the grand  scheme of things, blessed are the croc pie rejecters.

This is serious big river country.  Photos below are possibly of the Clarence, the Macleay and the Richmond Rivers (in no particular order), or some other rivers.

Dusk arrived earlier than expected and I found myself losing daylight some 30kms south of Bangalow.  I initially concluded that I had taken too many breaks during the day which had put me behind schedule, before more astutely concluding that dusk could be deferred a little longer by changing my raybans and tinted visor for their clear counterparts.

The day ended with the GS gliding over smooth concrete roads beside wide dark rivers, the air heavy with a heady blend of  moist evening air, sugar cane sweetness and rich green grass.

The cosy environment of the snug helmet, my warm gloves, the ambient sounds softened by efficient earplugs,  the thermal layers doing their job nicely, the engine smooth and powerful, the soothing rhythm of the bike leaning and sweeping around bends as if on autopilot, powerful yet gentle G forces alternating left and right, all meant that as the target 620kms for the day approached, the only regret was that there were no more kms to ride until tomorrow.