August 20 Dongarra to Denham

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Dongara to Denham (Sharks Bay) via Geraldton and the Stomatolites

I woke to the sound of crashing waves and the drip, drip of water off the corregated iron roof of the cabin I had rented. From the puddles it was clear it had rained hard over night and the sky was just starting to look a little brighter. I later discovered that rain over night was the norm as the fronts pass through. Without the benefit fo coffee I made the short ride to Geraldton and got to walk the main street abd harbor before the town woke up. Staying in Dongara was definitely the way to have gone. Geraldton tried to look like an up market seaside town but failed. The swank pavements, parks and shelters could not disguise the view of a working port. The one point of interest to me was St Francis Xavier cathedral. A large monolithic structure seemingly out of place in a west Australian port town. According to my guide it was designed Monsignor John Hawes from plans he drew up in 1916, but did not see completion until 1938, at which point the Monsignor promptly left for the Caribbean and a self imposed exile, presumably to relive the guilt from what he had done. The large central done is Florentine in look while other parts are Romanesque like columns, broad arches, and stripped orange painting on the upper walls. I think you get the picture.

Not so lucky with the rain today, but it seems a warm rain and only stopped me once. I have not yet felt cold riding and this is a blessing. On a previous short Harley bike ride around Ayres Rock a few years before, not being properly equipped I had an uncontrollable bout of the shivers, the likes of which I could not previously recall.

The Billabong Roadhouse - another classic with one entire wall of the dining room covered with visitors to the place who all had the notable distinction of having tattoos. In one corner was a newly stuffed eagle that had apparently died of natural causes just across the road - sure! I made the decision which I suspect will define the rest of the trip and that was not to go for distance but to get a better sense of my surroundings at a slower pace. It is amazing how reality strikes, or as some would say, it just shows I do not live in the real world. In the weeks of day dreaming leading up to this trip I had this 10,800km trip all planned out with time with friends in Adelaide etc. It might have been doable if I had the full allotted time, but having promised my wife not to be away much more than two weeks and not wishing to spend all the time riding plans had changed. I felt good about this and headed off towards Shark Bay, a 300km detour but with some supposedly wondrous sites.
Part way along the peninsula that defines the bay are the stomatolites. I an embarrassed to say as someone who spends part of their time studying evolutionary biology I was not aware of them until I read Bill Bryson’s hilarious and informative account in his book A Sunburnt Country. My major reaction to the whole event was that I was walking in the footsteps - almost exactly since you venture out over the water on a narrow pier. The most remarkable thing about then, only after being told is that they are 3 billion years old. Cyanobacteria that are bound together by fine grains of sand into several different configurations. Red attributed to the high iron content of the sand at that depth and so on. Less remarkable is that if I had not known they were there, thanks to various displays provided by the Broken Hill Proprietary (BHP) I would have just thought of then as an unusual coral like strata. Alas, and perhaps attributable, to the desire to leave science alone completely for a week or two, I got much more pleasure from the absolutely classic dunny that was sitting behind the general store come information booth that serves as the entrance to the walk to the stomatolites. When I first saw it I thought it was a display and not the working article. If it was not for fear of “the redback under the toilet seat” I might have given it a whirl. The second memorable event came as I left. The side stand of the bike was firmly stuck in the dirt. Maybe it was jetlag, maybe tiredness, or maybe the fact I just wont admit I am getting older, I could not budge it as hard as I tried. With a final yank it came loose, only to go over on its side the other way. No way I could lift it on my own with the luggage on board. Fortunately two ockers came out of the store at that moment and set me straight. A story to be told in the pub for many nights to come no doubt. “Hey Bruce did I tell you about that wacker and his bike .. what a donga..”

Arrived at Denham a little before dusk and got a room in the motel at the back of the local pub. Immediately went into the bar for a midi of ice cold VB to quench the thirst, for it had turned quite warm, and to suppress the memory of the once macho motorcyclist reduced to “please sir can you help me lift my bike.”

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Comments

[Fletch]

Yo
Nice blog mate, what next? A Twitter feed. Just kidding. To matters of substance. First off more bike stuff please, I mean WTF is a BMS 1200? Second Pirsigs book was a load of twaddle when it was written and age has not added lustre to its twin themes of navel gazing garnished with a dose of self reverent BS. The how to reset your won spark plug gap inserts are good though. Third re the letter to the Adelaide paper, I assume this got published as you were slagging off my Alma Mater, to which I can only say 1970’s Sheffield was, to me, a paradise of excellent beer and women with questionable morals and low standards. I wont bother updating you with the cricket scores as I assume every red blooded male you meet is delighted at the way Peter Siddle worked over the England top order yesterday (me, not so much). Anyhow I hope the rain stays away and the BMW (for I assume it is the worlds greatest bike which you are riding) continues to cosset your elderly rear. Right, back to my couch and the cricket. Hasta La vista

[OFL]

The Bike
Hi Tony.. its a BMW R1200 GS - very heavy fully loaded for me, but a great bike. Makes you feel safer in the wilderness and oh yes there is plenty of that. Watch the cricket in the evening till I fall a sleep and wake up to teh disaster.