Into the Bush

Rockhampton, in addition to being my protein and Four X Lager fix for the week, was also a demarcation point in the map up the Australian coastline. From Rockhampton forward, there would be considerably fewer places to stop and refuel. In particular, my map showed a red ribbon of 190 miles to Sarina, a section of highway broken only by a Whipporie-sized dot called Marlborough and the occasional dirt road leading off to one of Australia's coal mines several of which were located up here. This was the one and only way north short of traveling almost 600 miles west and detouring by going back up and over the Great Dividing Range. The land along this stretch would be true bush. Windy. Desolate. Surreal. Much as I'd first come to Australia looking forward to tracing line after long line of beach, coasting along on sea breezes with the smell of saltwater in the air and gelatos at every rest stop, it was this side of Australia that I'd actually come to appreciate much more. It was these vast stretches of unbroken terrain, the ability to look out over miles of earth in any direction and see nothing at all. It was the sensation of riding a bike, mind and body engaged in the discipline, across these vast tracts of wilderness that are otherwise impossible to find for us city-dwellers. On my map at least, I was staring down 190 miles of it. I couldn't wait to get started.

First things first though, I needed to provision a few extra liters of water. After a round trip around Rockhampton during which I saw all of this bustling metropolis' three city blocks (picking up a hearty breakfast at a local cafe as well), I headed off. My first stop was Marlborough, the only stop along the way that would have rooms. True to proper Queensland weather, the day had started off brilliantly sunny and turned to rain by midday. In the midst of this, I have to say that the stretch between Rockhampton and Marlborough is probably the friendliest stretch of highway I've ever ridden. Cars tapped their horns, some backpacker vans rolled down their windows to shout encouragement, and standing on the pedals in the middle of the rain brought back memories of training for Lake Placid and IMC. I saw my first roadside kangaroo. I was feeling good.

I reached Marlborough about 5 o' clock and took a room at the one and only pub in town, the Marlborough Hotel. A small place, there were only 3 other guests at the pub, one dusty-looking road worker and a couple on their way up to Cairns from Melbourne on holiday. Jim and Ann were their names, and after talking a bit around the bar we had dinner together. Ann was a tremendous Australian rules football fan and for the first time, I got a glimpse of exactly what Aussie-rules football is all about (it's still essentially a no-holds-barred version of rugby with an emphasis on kicking field goals, but at least I can say that with confidence now). Jim was an electrician looking at buying a campervan soon for that much-dreamed-of trip all the way around Australia.

The next morning I woke up at dawn, collected my things, and was rolling by 6am. One thing that is true about cycle-touring is that your day is dictated by the sun. With sunset happening around 5pm due to the winter months, for these long days I found myself getting up earlier and earlier to take advantage of the available daylight.

The ride to Sarina was truly brilliant. Immense stretches of wilderness veered off to the right and to the left. Traffic was light to nonexistant. Roads as long as three miles ahead, straight as an arrow, characterized most of the day, and the only sense of distance I had was my speedometer showing how many miles I'd gone and how many left to Sarina. There were almost no road signs. Even fewer roadhouses. I encountered two on the way and filled all of my bottles at both. I was drinking through close to two bottles an hour and refueling with whatever cheap roadhouse eats I could find. I had a lot of Coke and M&M's.

Having put on an average of over 100 miles a day for the previous five days I arrived at Sarina and was, frankly, tired. Fortunately or unfortunately, there isn't much to do in Sarina. I found a place to do laundry, a pub to hole up at, a salty-looking pizza joint for fuel, and watched a weak but mildly entertaining episode of Australian Geographic on TV before going off to bed.

The following day I rode to Airlie Beach and proper city again. Airlie is a harbour and sailing town, and yachties were out in full force on the sunny 80 degree day that I pulled in. Much like Noosa and Byron, Airlie is hugely popular with international backpackers, and is the gateway to Australia's infamous Whitsunday Islands. It was a great day for a stroll along the beach, a foolishly expensive fruit smoothie, and a relaxing quiz night with a heap of other backpackers at the hostel I was staying. I had four more days to Cairns and was beginning to count down the miles from here. About 400 remaining in total. After another day to Bowen along the north coast, it would be three days through Townsville and on up the corridor of rainforest parkland that lines the road to Cairns.