Ok so this is my first attempt at putting together a proper ride report and it probably wont be very good. The reason for that is that ive also got a blog going too (http://oztoice.wordpress.com/) and I have a feeling that maintain both a ride report and blog will end with me getting bored of sitting in front of a computer and give it up altogether.

So a brief introduction is in order I guess. My name is Rob, im from Wollongong in Australia and my bike is the venerable DR650 named Emily. Shes a 2003 model that I bought second hand from a guy in Melbourne that had only done 1800km before deciding to get rid of it. My first ride was straight back home, some 1000kms and the start of a beautiful long distance relationship. Since then shes not only took me to university and work from day to day, but has also taken me on a 4 week, 10 000km ride to Cape York and a 4 week 9000km ride through central Australia and across the French line through the Simpson desert.


a little digging ahead of me


theres a lot of sand dunes out there





Now im attempting to ride from Australia to Iceland. No set time frame, im working as I go when needed and the only limiting factor is my interest in the whole trip. So far its been 2.5 years since leaving home and counting. This isn’t a race around the world, nor visit as many countries as possible. Its just travelling, but with a bike, and mainly so that I don’t have to follow the crowd and get locked into a 30 year mortgage just yet.

Right now we are both in Malaysia, trapped here while sorting out some financial issues, but more about that later. Emily has 140 000km on the clock, 38 000 of those km attributable to this trip. For now ill leave everyone with a few photos from the trip so far and start catching up on the blog entries. Ill try to stick to photos and videos on the forums and leave all the wordy parts for the blog site for anyone that interested. Theres a facebook page for those that prefer to follow along on there too https://www.facebook.com/oztoice

hmmm cant seem to get the embedded vimeo links to work. anyone got any tips on doing this? heres the links until i get it worked out

Sorry, currently vimeo doesn't embed - no one has ever asked for it! I have found a way to do it, but it will be a while, due to lack of time. It's a fair bit to do.

For now, just use the links method.

You might want to edit your post in order to remove the bad code and put in urls.

__________________
Grant Johnson
Seek, and ye shall find.
------------------------
Inspiring, Informing and Connecting travellers since 1997!
www.HorizonsUnlimited.com

will do, thanks for the quick reply Grant

This trip started like most trips; stressful and unorganised, taking a few days to settle in, get the packing just right and get comfortable on the bike. After that it felt like just another ride minus the plans for a return trip.

I met up with some friends in Sydney and rode with them until wisemans ferry , just north of Sydney before they headed back and I continued on north. Another stop in at casino to see an old uni friend had me washed and well fed again before he joined em for a day of off roading through the Richmond range national park which was a good test of the bikes capabilities to handle offroad while fully loaded.


one last at st albans pub with Sean and Kai



Ross and Lorraine, complete stranger to me from northern queensland also showed unprecedented hospitality when Ros, who was volunteering at the local tourist information centre that I had set my tent up behind for the night, offered me a bed back at his place. Both of them are horticulturists and slowly building an ‘off the grid’ house for themselves and homestay with solar panels and wind turbines, a whole flock of hens and ducks, large vege patch and fruit trees filling all the spaces inbetween.


queensland has the right idea about rest stops


Ross and Lorraine


Preparing a homegrown dinner


Ross and Loraine loaded me up with eggs and avocados when i left

The rest of the run to Normanton was along long, straight and boring roads as the midday temperature steadily increased to 45 degrees C and the jacket got stowed. Also visiting Normanton was Pam and Kev an Irish couple now living in Australia and were making a TV series about travelling around the country with their two young kids (more info atwww.somewhereoutthere.com.au/). They even let me join them on a free tour of the Gulflander museum in town the next day, which is dedicated to documenting the history of the Gulflander rail system, a diesel engine powered narrow gauge rail system that connected the Croyden gold fields to the river port of Normanton.


the gulflander museam


view from the drivers seat


roadside views


big buckets


wheat country


beautiful skies after a breif and vicious storm passed through






normantons infamous purple pub


apparently the biggest croc ever shot was killed just up the river from normanton. great news considering i was about to head onto a road with multipule river crossings

more here: http://oztoice.wordpress.com/2011/10/16/queensland/

So this is where I start getting into the real guts of the trip. One thing that I noticed while pouring over ride reports while dreaming of doing my own ride was the sheer number of people doing RTW trips these days and how many of them are taking fairly similar routes. For me, the idea of riding around the world has always been that it would be a massive adventure and following the major highways (or what passes for a highway) never really appealed to me. I was inspired and amazed by people like Carl Stearns Clancy who rode around the world in 1912-13, before petrol was even a readily available commodity, let alone motorcycle tires or spare parts that could take 6 months to ship, or alternatively, you would have to get made from scratch like he did in spain. These are the heros of motorcycle travel for me and their modern equivalents are the guys that choose the path less travelled into places that most of us have never even heard of.

Now I doubt im ever going to be considered a great adventurer but I am going to try to stay off the main routes as much as possible on this ride, which is why from Normanton to Darwin, I would take the gulf track. At over 1000km in length and much of it unsealed with the odd saltwater crocodile infested river crossing, it was adventure enough without the physical problems I was about to encounter. The gulf track has everything you could want from an outback Australian road; flat endless plains pockmarked with termite mounds, road trains kicking up bulldust, the odd unchecked bushfire burning its way through the scrub and river crossings filled with saltwater crocs while giving a sense of extreme isolation throughout.

Some of the river crossing had causeways across them that were both a blessing and a curse, smoothing out the rough riverbed underneath but slipperier than a steel plate covered in grease. I found out just how slippery when the front end washed out on me, dumping the bike on top of me in the shallow, still water. The thought of massive reptiles with big teeth being attracted by the sounds of splashing had me out from under the bike and running for the shore like a little girl faster than anyone in history.

As for the special physical challenge, it turns out I am prone to having my sciatic nerve getting pinched around my hips. For those that aren’t physiotherapists, the sciatic nerve is the big one that runs down your spine and splits into two slight less large nerves to run through your hips and down the back of your legs. What that means in the real world is that when it gets pinched, its no longer free to slide around when you bend at the waist which includes walking and standing up from a seating position. The pain can range from being slightly uncomfortable to pain that stops you from breathing. I had the breath stoping kind. Walking meant stopping every 50m to let the pain subside and even more dangerous was moving from a sitting to standing position on the bike. As I stood up the pain would take over, blurring vision and halting my breath just long enough to see me fly into deep sand or rocks with my eyes closed and arse only inches off the seat. Not ideal.

The gulf track wasn’t going to let me go that easily though with the day before hitting the Stuart Highway threw up a few more challenges. The chain oil container split, covering a lot of my spares in the sticky mess, the sidestand broke in two and the GPS screen stopped working properly. After getting the sidestand welded I decided half a day spent swimming in bitter springs was well deserved before heading to Darwin.


long, straight and empty


a field full of small termite mounds


hitting this cattle grid in the centre would give you good little wakeup call


gets hot out there too


camped out along the Gulf track somewhere






ordering some pizza for dinner


outback voyeurs


where i went down, you can see the marks the front tire left in the slime




first casualty


getting the sidestand welded up


Bitter Springs


more here: http://oztoice.wordpress.com/2011/10/23/the-gulf-track/

Darwin was a great place to relax, wash some clothes, collect some spare tires for timor leste/indonesia and get my back into proper working order again. The hostel I stayed in was 90% german backpackers so good times were assured while the acts of the seedy hostel owner provided a constant talking point as he regularly attempted to get the girls to come to his house and wash his BMW in their bikinis for money.

I was more interested in trying to find a yacht that might be willing to take the bike and me to timor leste, some 800km to the north. Unfortunately the encroaching cyclone season hampered my attempts, but I did get to spend a few weekends with some awesome people, racing on their yachts and learning to sail. I found one couple quite inspiring as they were not only NOT wankers like most yacht people ive come across in the past (in fact, if you are ever in Darwin, get down to the Dinah Beach yacht club where there are some of the most down to earth people ive ever met; a genuine and friendly bunch that just happen to love being out on the water). This young family live on a yacht, a $60 000 house and ‘land’ package, with very little annual taxes, waterfront views, seafood restaurant right below your feet and if you don’t like your neighbours, just pull up the anchor and let the wind relocate you. Sounds a lot better than having a half million-dollar debt and being stuck in the one place.

While waiting for a few leads to make a decision about weather they could take the me to timor leste, I took off into nearby Kakadu and litchfeild national parks for a fairly uneventful few days. It not only allowed me to kill some time, but also saved on hostel fees while I was sleeping in the tent despite almost getting washed away by the monsoonal storms that were slowly increasing in intensity as the days ticked by. The yachties noticed it too; in the end everyone had already pulled their boats out of the water or sailed for calmer waters, so I was left to deal with perkins shipping to take the bike and a flight for me to Dili.






swimming in the waterholes of kakadu NP before the wet season raises the water levels enough that the crocs can swim upstream










darwin sunset


the wet season announcing its arrival


messing around with the germans

Great Pics, keep up the good work, will be following the RR

Enjoy it
Wayne

__________________
The Balkans
https://new.horizonsunlimited.com/poi_entity/8417

thanks mate. ill do my best but the report will definitely slow down once im back on the road again

G'day Rob, Thank you for sharing your great adventure. You're not bad behind that camera, nice photos and amazing video work and editing from a one man crew.
There was another aussie adventurer Alby Mangels that made a few bucks with his trips. I hope someone gets behind you and helps you along.
You've made me realise as I sit here on my arse behind this computer I really should get out more and enjoy life lol.

Stay safe and travel well. Hooroo, Kevin.

__________________
When we talk to God, we're praying.
When God talks to us, we're schizophrenic.

do it mate! get out there, computer land just goes round in circles for the most part but the world will never be the same as is it today

Ive only ever been outside of Australia once in my life before this trip on an organised tour to Vietnam with a girlfriend that made the whole experience a nightmare. Dili, the capital of timor leste seemed like as good a place as any to start experiencing the world alone and with minimal tourist infrastructure I got somewhat of a cultureshock. It was a mild introduction to asia but still about as far removed from life back home as you can get, from the moment you step off the plane an line up on the runway to get the visa on arrival to the traffic that looks completely chaotic to the open air markets in muddy laneways and families that live on the street, sleeping under ice cream cart umbrellas and living off the money they make selling overpriced cold drinks and cigarettes.

Then theres the crumbling infrastructure and disorganised nature of everything. Every property is surrounded by high walls topped with broken glass, steel spikes or razorwire while marks left by bullets in the concrete walls and telegraph poles bear witness to the 25 years of violence brought in by the Indonesian military. All this only serves to emphasise the friendliness of the locals towards foreigners who are more than happy to invite you back to their humble houses, even if only for the opportunity to practice their English for a while.

Getting an Indonesian visa is a nightmare that starts at 4am and still isn’t a guaranteed process. Get it wrong or omit any of the required documents that no one tells you that you need until after you’ve been standing in line for 5hrs and youll be repeating the same nightmare at 4am the next day. One dutch guy who was standing in the line for the 4th day straight finally spat it at the consulate staff when they told him he needed another piece of paper and would have to come back a 5th time the following day. While I commended him for telling them how backwards the whole process is, he did make an arse of himself by throwing his application at the staff which included his passport which he then had to ask for politely to be returned to him from behind the bars of the counter.

Toll perkins shipping, despite being an Australian company, was very much operating like a timor leste country. The managed to loose the shipping container 3 times before it arrived in their holding yard and even then they had managed to strap the tenere that was sharing the container with my bike over the plastic fairings, braking them in more than one place. The german owner of the bike looked about ready to murder someone by that stage.

Christmas in dili was a bit of unique experience too, with a big feast of local food being put on for everyone by the only hostel in Dili while in the cities main square there was a big festival on. Watching all the Christmas plays and traditional performances put on by the locals was the president of Timor leste, sitting comfortably amongst the crowd which was a bit of a surprise considering it’s the closest ive ever been to the leader of a country and rather refreshing when compared to the pedestal that western leaders put themselves on.


the documents required to apply for an indonesian visa from timor leste


in the markets






the markets have everything, even gambling


the roads in the capital have their fair share of surprises


christmas in Dili


while well intentioned, only one of these lanterns actually managed to get airborne


dinner on the beach in the rain


the Dili art gallery is located in a crumbling, abandoned government building. they are allowed to use the space free of charge, as long as the government doesnt want it back


football is massive in this part of the world and the locals do whatever they can to get their fix. this the field for the Timor Leste championship semi finals


by day these guys would annoy the shit out of foreigners to buy water and cigarettes off them for twice the going rate. by night they sleep on the street. after taking this photo i didnt argue with them over prices anymore


fresh food from the market every day


the little guy was rather protective of his mum and older sister


pig anyone?


more here: http://oztoice.wordpress.com/2011/12/26/dreams-of-dili/

After getting the bike, I tackled my first bit of SE Asian traffic and it was like everyone said; its ok once your in it despite being slightly terrifying while watching from the footpath. It helps having an off road oriented bike here too. The roads are so bad that the extra suspension travel means that you don’t have to split your concentration between the traffic and crumbling road systems.

Getting the bike also means getting out of Dili, first stop a little place called Bacau, a small town build on a hillside by the beach. Beautiful crumbling Portuguese era buildings sit amongst the massive trees of the jungle while nearby rivers run alongside the road and even into the concrete public pool, closed for cleaning while I was there. Down on the beach a family of Timorese teach me that the local way of waving someone over uses the same gesture as telling someone to piss off back in Australia. Combine that with being yelled at in a language I don’t understand and you end up with some rather confusing situations. Thankfully this one ended with bbq horse from a bucket and cheap Portuguese wine from an imported flagon.

Further east I enter the town of Los Palos in a rather unique fashion; racing one of the local boys on his little scooter, launching the bike off the old steel trellis military bridge and past the local policeman who is just laughing at us. Even if he did want to pull us up for being idiots, I don’t think he would know what the speed limit there was anyway. With roads this bad, drivers generally govern their own speed anyway.

Los Palos is home to a man I was lucky enough to meet called Maleve, a rather unremarkable man apart form his stature; shoulders as broad as his are somewhat of a rarity in these parts and hint at him having been very physically powerful in days gone by. However, it’s the deep scar across hi brow that gives the biggest hint as to his past life as a militant fighting the 25 year long occupation of Timor Leste by Indonesia’s military dictatorship from 1975 to 1999. The scar was given to him by the butt of an Indonesian rifle but isn’t the worst of the reminders that the community bears. Maleves brother carries a scar running vertically up his stomach, a souvenir from an Indonesian bayonet, while all through the town there are vacant houses and plots of land, abandoned due to the superstition that the land is cursed after a violent death occurs there.

One of the most striking conversations that I have with Maleve was in regards to the number of Indonesians currently working in Timor Leste. When I asked if there was any resentment towards the Indonesians, he told me that the Timorese people had made the distinction between the Indonesian military and government, who they despise, and the people of Indonesia who had very little input in the decision to invade.


some of the views on the way east out of Dili




the old portugese markets in Bacau


the natural rivers running through town mean the water in the fountain is always crystal clear


the old portugese barracks, now the local school


the public pool is also fed by the clear waters running through the town, when its not closed for cleaning


these two started cleaning the bike without being asked but were more than happy to ask for money for their services once i got back


the revolutionary vibe is strong in the village of Los Palos


Maleve, one of the only men ive ever met that has the right to wear a che guvera tattoo


drinks and music with the locals




a little of the local delicacy, possum foetus wine


keeping motorcycles inside is still a novelty but nothing has ever felt more right

Great photos

apologises for the poor photos in this post, the rain kept the cameras tucked away for most of this story uke1

Back on the road again and the rain set in as I headed for the south coast of Timor Leste. Things went smoothly until I got to a village with a short, steep and one-way hill. The rain had turned it into a potential landslide zone, the only way down being with both legs out, the rear brake locked and looking for a pile of soft mud large enough to stop me smashing into the truck that was bogged at the bottom of the hill and filling the road. With the rear wheels buried up to the axle in the sticky red clay, the local men were rather optimistically pulling on a steel cable in an attempt to pull it up the slope. I like to say that they were dreaming but have since learnt that Indonesians have more than a few surprises up their selves

The rain continued and so did the bad roads until it ended at a 200m wide riverbed with a river that was slowly rising as the rain continued to fall. The nearby Chinese workers camp wasn’t much help as to what was going on and the village id just passed through looked deserted. I eventually tumbled on some kids out playing in the rain, one of which spoke some pretty rudimentary English but managed to get me to understand to follow him. He took me to the temporary bypass track that looked as though it had been temporary for a number of years. With all the rain it wasn’t much more than a muddy track and I had about as much hope of getting up it as I had the hill I had slid my way down.

Trapped between two unrideable slopes and with the rain still falling, I gave up for the day and was led back to the small hut that the kids occupied, all 8 of them along with their parents. They gave me a small patch of grass to put my tent on while the father cut two of the biggest palm leaves ive ever seen to be used as a cover for my bike. While putting a couple of leaves on my bike doesn’t seem like much, the fact that he was willing to go out into the rain just so he could help protect the property of a complete stranger spoke volumes about the culture of these people.

Eventually I’m all set up for the night and changed out of my muddy riding gear when the mother of the kids come over to hand me a bowl of instant noodles and some kind of unidentifiable meat. It tastes amazing and curiosity get the better of me so I ask what the mystery meat is and am promptly shown the empty shell of a sea turtle laying next to the remains of a fire. Not something I ever thought I would get the opportunity to eat.

We spend the night laughing about how we cant understand each other and I teach some very basic English to the kids. The next morning I’m farewelled with more turtle meat and even some turtle eggs cooked inside lengths of bamboo over the fire. During the night, the rain stopped and its under clear skies that I tackle the muddy slope that forced me to call it a day only 12hrs before.


the families hut that managed to sleep 8 people


a shot of the kitchen area


the all natural bike cover. it doesnt pack down real small but the price is about right


the most exotic food scraps ive ever seen


the guys standing on my right is a grown adult and a pretty common height for these parts




More here: http://oztoice.wordpress.com/2012/01/03/nye-2012/