Wed Big Bend to Creel 420
The instructions in the handbook said ‘leave the campsite, turn left and at the first sharp bend throw bike into big steep gully, break shoulder and cause fellow riders to drop bikes’. Luckily, I’d heard it was a printing error before I left the site. The first group had stuffed themselves at a steep 100 degree bend. The bike was upside down and the rider had hurt her shoulder. It was manhandled out and she rode it 25 miles to breakfast but by then the adrenaline was gone and she was in trouble. Another person to hospital and probably going home. We all take it a bit easier today. We’re off towards Mexico and ride a rollercoaster road along side the Rio Grande river for 50 miles. Nearly hit a roadrunner and the sky is full of vultures waiting for motorcyclist roadkill. Over the boarder and we’re in a different world, where visa cards are laughed at and the towns all look like ghettos. First impressions aren’t good but later in the countryside the scenery is fantastic. Green and verdant with valleys full of horses and children alongside the rivers. Bloody scary roads though. All the women in the countryside wear the traditional colourful costume and the blokes ride the horses with the obligatory cowboy hat. The people are friendly but want to diddle you whenever money is involved. We arrive in an amazing little hotel off a dirt street in a little town and park the bikes in the courtyard. Hardly anyone speaks English (or will admit to) so buying anything is difficult. Nice to really feel abroad though.
Thur Creel to Parral 230
Getting the bikes out of the courtyard up the stone steps proves tricky but we’re all away and out safely then up into the mountains around the copper canyons. These canyons are HUGE and dwarf the grand canyons. The deepest is 6200ft. Holy smoke! Mountain roads to motorcyclists are like red rags to a bull and we’re off. What a ride this is. Imagine going on one of those carousels at the fair where you sit of the chairs and spin round with the centrifugal forces taking you out sideways. Now imagine putting the carousel on top of a 40 storey building, then cut the pole to 5ft long and spin you at 70mph with your feet just off the floor. Now, for a little excitement get your knife out and start cutting the cord on your seat till you’re swinging on a thread. That’s what it feels like today, excellent. Lots of the riders say they were riding on ‘full wets’ today. That’s not their tyres, that’s their pants. My sphincter was waterproof to 4000 ft all day but I really enjoyed it, Not sure about the bike though. All arrived safely at the hotel and locked the gates. Looks like Mad Max thunderdome outside but I’m sure it’s safe, probably.
Fri Parral to Durango 250
Out of the thunderdome and out across the plains again. Up through the mountains and into the twisties HORAY! The roads are quite bad and have loads of speed bumps, unmarked and impossible to see amongst the dust. Most of us are speaking soprano after several trousers to tank interfaces. Up over a hill and what’s this, a butterfly cloud. Amongst the clouds are squadrons of birds chasing the butterflies and eating them on the wing. Into Durango and we go round the one way system, the wrong way, eh um! Anyway we sort that out and get to the hotel. Ornate and very foreign, lovely.
Fri Parral to Durago 400 miles
Lovely cool ride through the greenery. We come across more ghettos and some seriously poor people living in appalling conditions. Huts made out of whatever they can find and scratching a living out of nowhere. I’ve not seen this type of thing before and it’s humbling. The people of Spain and Portugal that live in their little stone houses are nowhere near the desperation of these people. It’s not unusual either. We go through entire towns of lean-to housing sprawling through valleys. Arrive at an old colonial hotel in time to be accosted by a local pimp complete with two girls dressed in school uniform. They all stink of alcohol and fags. We give them short thrift and they leave.
Sat Durago to Guamuchill 360
We all meet for breakfast, but everyone is feeling delicate. Looks like virtually everyone has got food poisoning and been on the bog all night. Everything from chicken gravy, through mocha coffee to chocolate milkshake seem to have been experienced. I went for the beef and onion gravy option myself. Ahhhhhhh Bisto… Anyway, we spend the entire day playing Mexican Roulette. It’s like Russian Roulette but played with your bum when you fart. I was careful and fired blanks luckily. Some of the others had not been so lucky and had found a bullet. The road today was billed as one of the best in the world and I have to agree. It’s called the ‘Ruta Espinoza el Diablo’ and is truly spectacular. We climb gently for about 40 miles without really noticing and suddenly BAMB there you are. You appear on an escarpment and there is NOTHING either side of the road for 100’s of feet. It’s impossible to describe this road and the scenery. It’s all at about 8 to 9000 ft altitude along the sides of very steep mountains. When you’re on one side you ride amongst the clouds being driven up over the slope. No views but an abyss on every sharp corner. On the other side you have the sunshine or the cloud coming swirling over and down into the valleys, amazing. Every turn is a death trap with huge articulated trucks cutting the corners and going 5mph or kids or dogs or cows or donkeys or stones or a MASSIVE drop, often with no barrier. This road goes on for 150 miles. Yep 150 miles of the tightest scariest road I’ve ever seen. I won’t forget that in a hurry. Arrive at the hotel where everyone is busy scrubbing their pants.
Sun Guanuchill to Hermosillo 380
Still can’t phone home. They sell you a phone card then you can’t use it to phone home. You try the operator but they don’t speak English. You are in the middle of nowhere, nobody speaks english. It’s a nightmare. Not as much as last night was for my room mate though. Yesterday he used a pair of socks in a field, get my drift, and last night was worse. He’s gone for a poo, pants down, nothing happens. Pants up he falls asleep on the bog. He wakes up and does a lovely liquid lunch. The more astute amongst you will realise he went to step B before performing step A. So, pants in the bin and a blocked bog. Silly bugger even left the door open, I thought I’d woken up in the middle of the ‘worlds smelliest fart’ competition. It’s getting bloooooomin hot and very humid. Yesterday it got to 39, today it hit 43. 43 and 90% humidity and leathers. Now children, remember that Tornado jet on the drive, well get dad down to Heathrow to swap it for a Concorde. All day we’re going through tolls. It’s costing more for tolls than petrol. Arrive at the hotel dripping with sweat and a temper shorter then credit from a scotsman.
Mon Hermosillo to Douglas 240
Back into the USA today, thank GOD. As you get closer and closer to the boarder the level of affluence rises accordingly. The roads don’t get any better though. They continuously hide railway crossings around corners giving you about 0.000001 seconds to react to the inevitable crunch of wheels on rails. We arrive at the border to find a queue of cars miles long but motorcycle engines don’t do ‘waiting in traffic’ so we’re at the front in 2 minutes then quickly through to the USA. My stomach feels better already. We arrive at the hotel. I must have been in a ‘back to the future’ style time warp because the hotel is from a different era completely. This place is straight from the 30’s with art deco (is that 30’s?) style decor and no air conditioning. We’re just remarking of how the place smells of wee when an old lady wobbles round the corner. We later discover the place is full of fossils, all moving around in slow motion, and just never managing to reach the toilet by the smell of it. Douglas seems an old style town not quite in step with the rest of the US. There is a 30-minute power cut during an electrical storm, which isn’t unusual apparently. The menu in the hotel is notable because it doesn’t offer any vegetables with anything, apart from those already mentioned travelling the corridors via their zimmers.
Tue Douglas to Los Angeles 650 miles.
Early start at 5.30am and we’re off through the rain. Quickly warms up as we enter the desert though, complete with those huge finger like cacti everywhere. We’re in a hurry and whoops, we manage to keep our 1 stop a week average up when we see lights in the opposite direction and a quick u-turn behind us. We stop and wait, as usual. The police car pulls up behind but what’s this? We seem to have been pulled by the world’s only ghost policeman as the car appears to be empty. The driver’s door opens but we still see no sign of life…then we see something. Oh excellent, this is going to do our cred any good at all. We appear to have been pulled by ‘inch high private eye’, the new ‘economy size’ copper. A pair of sunglasses with tiny legs appears from behind the door. 83 in a 55 and he has the clipboard out, bugger! “Insurance, licence and ownership documents please”. Double bugger, looks like ticket time. It appears InchHigh is a masochist as well. He sits in the cool air-conditioned car, we stand in the heat in our gear getting laughed at by all the others as they cruise by, and eyed up by the vultures circling overhead. We’re standing there for 15 minutes and are soaking wet before InchHigh makes us sign an official warning document. That was close. We head towards LA and it appears we’re heading directly into the sun. We go towards Palm Springs and the temperature gauges hit 47 (some guages show 50 but that can’t be true) degrees. Now children I know I asked you send dad out for a Corcorde, but I think you better phone him and ask for a space shuttle instead. And don’t forget to ask for the solid rocket boosters too. This is serious heat and a couple of the riders get very close to passing out. One just stops and collapses on his tank. We do about 150 miles in intense discomfort until the roads starts to climb through the wind farms on the mountains. These are not your little experimental wind farms either. There are 100’s if not 1000’s of generators on poles all over the mountains and in the valleys. With the low sun on them as they all thrash around in the wind they make a memorable sight. We dive into the LA freeways and it’s like being on the motoring equivalent of a flume at the swimming pool with huge flows of traffic pulling you along almost against your will. Any change of road can involve 8 lane changes, 50 swear words and prayers to Alah. We somehow manage to find our hotel on the far side of this immense concrete jungle after straying through some of the less salubrious ‘hoods’ like Inglewood where we mysteriously start playing Mexican Roulette again for some reason.
The Australians are paranoid about any grain of foreign soil or any foreign insect entering the country, which is nice. My motorbike looks like someone has got an Uzi sub-machine gun, loaded it with grasshoppers, butterflies and assorted colourful animals then fired it in an attempt to simulate an Andy Warhol inspired ‘blood and guts’ design. I’m scrubbing for an hour before it’s anywhere near clean. Just a short trip then to the shipping agents to crate the bikes for the trip to Oz, then try and sort out washing and repacking the luggage. Feels weird to be without transport though.
Waiting for the flight to Oz which is 10.30pm. We check out at 12 and sit in the car park till 5 , bored stiff. Everywhere is too far to walk in this sprawling 2 storey city. LA is notable for it’s almost total absence of tall buildings. There are a few in the centre but mostly the place is very low level. Must be the earthquake risk I suppose. Catch the 14 hour flight and cross both the equator and the date line on the same flight meaning we miss Friday out completely and land 6.30 Saturday morning.
Sat, Sun, Mon, Tue, Wed
Stuck in Sydney. Sounds good doesn’t it and I can’t think of anywhere abroad I’d rather be stuck but it’s not what we’re here for and the days seem endless waiting for news. They start appearing piecemeal on Tue/Wednesday and they’re all here by Thursday.
Sydney is a fantastic place. It all seems so perfect. Perfect city, perfect harbour, perfect people, perfect beaches. It’s the only place in the world I would probably like to bring the family to live. The people are so friendly, but not in the sycophantic American way, and they seem pretty switched on. We spend a few days doing the sights in the spring sunshine. It’s not that warm though and the Australians are dressed in woollen tights, shirts, jumpers, coats, balaclavas, hats, gloves, fur boots and long johns. The brits are on the beach, in thongs. We go down to Bondi and it’s freezing cold and blowing a bloody gale, so we decide to go in, as you do. One bloke gets his shorts on and runs down the beach. Bugger, now we HAVE to do it. To be honest I had to go in anyway cos I needed a pee. We run into the waves. From the beach the waves look small and ‘playful’, but when we get in it’s like being in a bloody great washing machine. The waves are way above our heads and we’re only a few meters in. The power is seriously impressive and we get battered mercilessly for 20 minutes before stumbling out and getting changed on the sand. The water was so cold not even the seagulls look interested as we stand there starkers with 100% goosepimples. I meet a mate from the UK which is nice, and always weird to see a familiar face so far from home. Makes me think of the family though too which is hard. At least any direction is home from here. Whey Hey. We turn up at the freighters at 2, but the bikes don’t turn up till 5. I see my bike on the lorry and it’s the only one covered in plastic so I get suspicious. Get the crate off and the bike has fallen off the stand and is like a drunken bull in a rodeo, all leaning over against the sides. The crate has split and damaged the luggage rack and the handlebar. I instantly turn into Hong Kong Fuey and go ballistic. The others are carefully pulling their crates apart to use again. I kick the ends off in a rage then rip open the rest and send it flying in all directions. As the rage subsides I’m standing there sweating and surrounded by splinters. Everyone is looking at me like I’ve contracted BSE.
We have to go and get ‘pink slips’. Pink Slips? I have visions of having to ride Australia around in lacy pink lady’s underwear but in fact it’s an MOT thingy. Lights, horn, exhaust, done. Wish it was that easy at home. Too late to get insurance so we head into Sydney uninsured. After dinner a few of us take the bikes out for a spin round the city. Round Mrs McArthers Chair (spelt wrong) where you get the famous uninterrupted view of the Opera House and bridge, then up and over the bridge itself. It feels so weird to be riding my bike over the Sydney Harbour Bridge but at least we’re back on the right side of the road.
Fri Sydney to Melbourne 560 miles.
Get up early and take the bike over the bridge again in daylight before heading out after getting our insurance sorted. Nice to be on the open road again but unfortunately speeding in New South Wales and Victoria is very hotly enforced. 110kph limit, yawn yawn. We’ve been told that the traffic police are evil and according to some reports, ‘they eat their own young’ which is encouraging. They can also impound the vehicle if you don’t pay on the spot so we’re careful. We see our first roo. It’s only 1 inch thick though after being splattered by a lorry. The road looks like a page from an encyclopaedia with similar pressings of emu, birds and other animals of unknown origin along the way. We stop at a petrol station and there are white parrots arguing over something and having a scrap. I’m looking over the aisles and I see a product for helping getting a reluctant engine to fire. In typically frank and forthright Aussie fashion it’s called ‘Start Ya Bastard’. I pick it up and it’s just one in a series of automotive products that include some WD40 like stuff called ‘Quit Ya Whining’, and my personal favourite , some exhaust silencing paste called ‘Shut The F**k Up Ya Bitch’. We ignore all the ‘Koala crossing’ warning signs and do 85 in the dark to get to Melbourne at 9. Melbourne has trams which go down the middle of the road in both directions. I’m following some tram lines down the road when suddenly they cross the road and I’m heading into oncoming traffic, DOH, won’t do that again.
Sat Melbourne servicing day
Over to the BMW dealers for a service, the only full one it’ll get on the trip. The dealers is big and shiny which doesn’t bode well in the price department. Wait around for a few hours worrying then back for the bad news. “That’ll be $1350 please sir”. It’s like one of those moments on TV programs when the background flys away from you. “Holy Shit, $1350 sounds a bit harsh.” “Well we’ve got some more shiny bits and some really nice spotlights arriving for the showroom that need paying for mate”. Oh well, fair enough then. Seems I’ve got charged for about 25 hours labour, but the bike was only there for 4. At least they washed it. I’ll be barbecuing road kill to eat for the rest of Oz, boo hoo.
Sun Melbourne to Robe 440
Off out of Melbourne and along the freeway towards the ocean. Doing 80 to 100 kph is SOOOOO boring but you stick out like a sore thumb if you’re going faster. We’re on our way to the ‘great ocean highway’ that runs along the south coast. We get to the highway and it’s beautiful, running directly along the coast at sea level with the huge surf breaking just offshore. The weather is sunny but it’s more windy than the famous Parumph-Parp household where they live solely on a diet of scrambled egg sandwiches. The wind is 46 knots and blowing offshore and the waves have massive plumes of spray coming off the top as they struggle to break into the force of it. The road is thick with local bikers and holiday traffic which spoils the fun though. We get over to the 12 apostles and take a walk to see the view. There are 12 huge stacks just off the coast surrounded by blue water and surf, stunning. Whilst we’re there a German backpacker looks me up and down in my weather beaten dirty leathers and asks “Do you crash a lot?”, dozy tart. The road quickly becomes boring though and I’m keen to get on. I see a red car flashing it’s lights in the distance and I think he’s warning me about a police car nearby. Turns out he is the police car, unmarked, bugger! I stop and wait. It appears that the bloke that warned me about the cops was right. I seem to have Officer Fred West this time and he’s committing infanticide in front of my very eyes as he chews on an offspring. He says “128 in a 120, I’m going to have to give you a ticket mate’ and with a grin he spits a chewed femur at my feet. Tits, another $200 down the toilet. We hoof it on towards the destination and it starts pissing down in the dark. We get to the destination and have a barbecue in an aircraft hangar amongst 2 Tiger Moths whilst the wind blows some bikes over outside.
Mon Robe to Glendambo 600
Now cast your mind back to when you were a child, away at the seaside with your parents. You’re sitting in the car on the seafront. It’s freezing cold outside and the wind is howling, rocking you to and fro. The waves are thrashing themselves against the defences and the rain comes against the windows making a sound like someone is throwing sand. Your mum hands you a mug of soup and you’re all warm and cosy. Now open the door, get on your bike and ride 600 miles. That’s what it was like today. To make matters worse we’re up towards the northern territories and all the wildlife is waiting to cross the road. I spot an emu running away to the side. It looks like it’s got two oven gloves for feet as it runs into the bush kicking up the sand. These are quite a few emu about, but no roos yet, well not live ones anyway. We ride huge past pink lakes, coloured by the red sand I presume. The police are supposed to be more lenient up here and it looks true as we accidentally rocket past a jam sandwich DOH. Perhaps he doesn’t want to get wet. We also have the road trains to contend with. These are articulated lorries with 3,4 or sometime 5 trailers. They carry 130-150 tonnes, are 53.5m long and when it’s wet its like trying to pass an epileptic elephant in the shower, nightmare. When they come the other way you just see lights and what looks like an 80mph storm cloud then WUFF and you’re in turmoil till they pass. We go past Mt Remarkable. Australians have some really weird naming conventions and you see it all the time. “Blimey mate, that mountain looks remarkable, what do you reckon we should call it?” DOH. Get to Glendambo and it’s a petrol station in the middle of nowhere. We doss down in the freezing cold.
Tue Glendambo to Ayres Rock 650.
Off we go again and now we go into the northern territories proper. There is absolutely nothing for miles and miles and miles, just communities around petrol stations every 150 miles or so. Now we start seeing serious roadkill everywhere. Where the road trains have hit roos there are bloodstains for 100 yards like someone has thrown a bucket of giblets out the window at speed. With the roadkill comes the cleaners. We’re travelling along and I see something standing at the side of the road in the distance. I think it’s a hitch hiker but then we get closer and bugger me it’s an eagle and it’s HUGE. It’s a fan tailed eagle and they can be 1m tall but this one must be a mutant cos it seems bigger. It doesn’t move but just gives us a ‘come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough’ stare. I’m not hard enough so I ride on by. We then see hoards of them everywhere, really impressive birds. See some more emus but no roos then suddenly this huge cat jumps across the road in front of the bikes. Christ that was close. We only got a quick look but it was seriously large. When I get to the next petrol station I ask the bloke what it was. This bloke is obviously the Australian swearing and profanity champion and he launches into an impressive tirade of swearing barely punctuated and all in one breath. After I had run it through my de-profanitator I think he said “Oh yeah, mate, that jolly little blighter was probably a feral cat. They’re really naughty little monkeys and can get quite big. I hit one in my car once and had to run the poor thing over 4 times before it was dead”. I’m in the mood for a challenge so reply in kind and he takes the bait. He starts with a f**k to the ear and a c word uppercut. I counter with some nifty footwork around woman’s privates then on to botties and finish with a quick fart belch left right. He counters again but gets a warning for repetition and overuse of the c word. I deal him a numpty kak skidmark bollocks to the ribs then land a perfect STW (ask me when you see me) on the chin and he’s down. The crowd are on their feet and the referee starts the count. He struggles to his feet and spits a few f**ks out through broken teeth before falling straight backwards with a final “bugger”. It’s all over, the crowd goes mad, screaming and clapping. The referee declares me the winner and I’m crowned WBO, WBF, PTO, HBO, MFI and B&Q world champion before I hit the road victorious. 1-0 UK. Get to Ayres rock in time for the sunset then drive around the rock and set up camp. I though it would be warm in oz but it’s still freezing and we get another bad night’s sleep.
Wed Ayres Rock to Alice Springs 280.
Just a quick blast through the red centre up to Alice. I was expecting a wooden hut and a petrol station but it’s a really big place with a hospital and everything. Lots of aborigines too looking sorry for themselves and absolutely stinking of alcohol and sweat. They’re definitely out of their element here and the whites certainly don’t give them an easy time either which seems very unfair.
Thur Alice Springs to Katherine 740
Long Long day starting before dawn. As the sun comes up I see my first live roo. They’re quite friendly when you chat to them. We swap e-mail addresses and he promises to contact me but I bet he wont. You know what they say. “you can’t trust a roo further than you can spit a buffalo”. It’s 8 degrees when we set off but by the end of the day it’s hit 37 and it’s humid too. The earth gets notably less red the further north we go. There is serious roadkill here. It goes in patches. Where there are bodies there are lots of bodies, usually every couple of hundred yards. The ones that get knocked to the side are picked clean and remain as carcasses but the others get spread around the road like jam by the lorries. Get to Katherine in the dark and climb into a hut surrounded by wallabies and pelicans.
Fri Katherine to Derby 920
New tyres required so I leave late. You’re supposed to take it easy with new tyres for the first 100 miles cos they’re covered in sticky stuff. Anyway, I’m doing 100mph just out of town and I see 4 eagles having a breakfast of gently warmed roo brains on the side of the road. I beep the horn and 3 take off but the 4th is obviously not awake and leaves it too late. He gets into the sky and the inevitable happens, he smashes into the crook of my elbow and I think for a second I’ve done some damage. Imagine your partner driving along at 100 towards you then at the last moment leaning out the window and twating you with a chicken, OUCH. So, Mr Eagle bounces off into the road behind me. Diner to dinner in 10 seconds flat. Nearly hit a emu/heron cross type thing then spend all day at 100 to make up time. Catch up with some of our boys doing a 1000 mile day and decide to tag along. 890 miles in and one bloke pulls alongside and pulls me over whilst the others bugger off into the distance. It’s dark, it’s late, we’re literally miles from anywhere and his rear wheel bearing has collapsed, fantastic. We try loading my bike up with everything from his and seeing if he can continue but it’s no good. The good thing out here is that other people stop to help, except the roadtrains. At night these things look like the transport of the devil. They’re all covered in bright lights thundering along at 80mph in a swirling cloud of hot red dust, often carrying 100’s of cattle on the way to their graves. The enormous turbocharged diesel engines whining and screaming through the night like a thousand tortured souls. Anyway, enough of that bollocks, they’re basically f**king big and f**king scary at night and not to be messed with.
Saturday Derby to Port Hedland 480
Quick day for me blasting along alone. There are speed limits but no police in the middle of nowhere to enforce them. The limiting factor is fuel. Fuel stations out here are sometimes 180-200 miles apart in the middle of absolutely nowhere. This area is very sparsely populated like nowhere we’ve been before. Riding alone feels odd sometimes where you see nobody for ages on end. Lot’s of potential accidents too. Get to the backpackers early then wait for the others. There has been carnage behind me with 5 riders coming off in a section of roadworks where there is a diversion across wet loose red earth for a few miles. One bloke twists his knee and others are bruised. I bet they’ll be worse in the morning.
Sunday Port Hedland to Perth 1120 miles
Ironbutt day. I decided yesterday to attempt the 1000 mile challenge set by the fat yanks, and so did a couple of the others but I thought (hoped) they would go separately so I could go alone cos that would be faster. 4.30am I look out the window and see two others getting ready, bugger, then I accidentally wake another from his sleep, double bugger. We all set off into the darkness to run the wildlife gauntlet that is an oz morning drive. It’s really cold and very foggy which is exactly what we didn’t want too. I’m in front because it was my idea and I’m keeping the speed down to 60 but the fog is in blankets going thick and thin. As the light comes up I see things bouncing in the fog, poopy do, then suddenly out the mist I see a really big red roo standing in the other lane. I look at roo, roo looks at me, and he decides not to move. I’m past in a couple of seconds but it scared the daylights out of me. This goes on for an hour as the sun comes up and the moon goes down. There looks like there has been roo carnage last night. There are dead ones everywhere. One bloke we speak too reckons 50 a night get killed on this short stretch alone, blimey. Then another roo jumps out and bounces up to the right. Bounce bounce bounce SPLAT. He looses his footing and goes twating to the ground heat first. I see him putting his little arms out but they appear to be 6in too short to save his face from kissing the dirt. He gets up, shakes his head then bounces away embarrassed. I think he’d been drinking actually, but he’d probably deny it. You know what they say about roos… Anyway, the rest of the day was just spent riding and wiggling. Riding for so long you bum just goes to sleep. I could tell mine was asleep because it started snoring. We pass a load of outlaw bikers going the other way in a convoy. They area bit of a problem here and they cause lots of trouble. They reckon they’re really hard but have given themselves names like ‘the coffin cheaters’. I wonder what they’d think if they knew that to most British a ‘coffin cheater’ is an old fogie that smells of wee and biscuits and looks like they are long past their ‘incinerate by’ date, they wouldn’t be so hard then would they. We arrive in Perth at 10pm in the pissing rain and cold, find a backpackers hostel and quickly get horizontal.
Get the bike serviced and get some post sent etc. Perth is weird in that the main city centre is tiny and you walk into residential areas in just few minutes. It’s got a nightmare one way system though that appears to have been designed solely to make taxi drivers as much money as possible due to them having to drive 10 miles through 50 sets of lights to take you somewhere 1 minutes walk away. During the day other riders gradually show up as the weather closes in and it starts titting with rainNext Page