Fri 28th of August 2009 Carnamah to Pinjarra ~ 350km

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Fri 28th of August 2009 Carnamah to Pinjarra ~ 350km

The thing about travelling is you always have good and bad days. In the future, when thinking back on the trip, you only remember the good days and the bad days serve no other purpose than to make the good days seem even better. Today was one of those bad days.
It started well enough. I had spent a comfortable, smell free night in a cabin in the Carnamah caravan park. The cabin was meant to sleep four. It had an expansive, except for a sofa and TV, empty living room. The sofa was about 20 ft from a 13 inch TV set and there was an old electrical fire in the room that did not work. It had been superseded by one of those electronically controlled wall units that have a flap that opens and reminds me of a bomb bay door on a B52 for some reason (I have watched Slim Pickins in Dr. Strangelove too many times I guess). It worked and that was the main thing because it is now cold at night now, and as we shall see subsequently, during the day too. Watching Australian TV as if through a pinhole camera does not make it any better. TV here consists of sports, more sports, The Simpsons, provincial news, and the worst of American non-animated comedies. I would like to think Australians spend so much time out doors that they have not thought to rebel. Sadly to say as I ride suburban streets at night, the tell tale flicker of sports upon sports can be seen peeking through the curtains from most living rooms.

What about the old fire? What I like about Australians is there seems to be little interest in aesthetics. So what if the old electrical fire looks like an accident waiting to happen, just put in the new one and forget about it. By the way the provincial news seems to consist of a continuous stream of stories about people’s houses that burnt down while they were out.

I digress yet again, back to the bad day. The first hour or so of riding to Moora was a delight. It was cool and fresh, but now with my big gauntlets and warm undergarments bought for way to much money at REI (a yuppie outdoors store in the US) I was perfectly happy amidst the endless fields of yellow flowers (canola) and green shoots (soon to be wheat or barley). Moora is I suppose the gateway to the wildflowers for those in Perth, a quaint Australian country town with an equally quaint tourist office and more important, bakery. While checking out their home baking I called my mate Steve in Perth to go over plans for now what small amount remains of my trip. In passing he mentioned he thought the weather would hold up. Dutifully refreshed I headed over to the tourist office, which in these towns is the only source of Internet (if it exists at all). The lovely ladies were most obliging with a very fast connection. Deep in the throws of email, which by the way is like the evening news (except in Australia of course), 95% bad and 5% of something not quite so bad, one of the ladies in the office came over and said, “are you Phil Bourne there is a telephone call for you.” Eight thousand miles from home, no one knows exactly where I am and I get a call to the Moora tourist office just when I happen to be there. What the hell. Turns out it was Steve. He managed to track me down. Amazing. Reminded me that he is perhaps the most resourceful person I know (bumming around Europe many years ago for six months together you learn a lot about a person) and that it was likely important. Part of his resourcefulness is keeping an eye on the weather satellite imagery on the Web. He called to correct his previous statement about the weather and tell me that a front was coming through. Now there is a friend. And what did I do with all this resourcefulness; I ignored it of course. Well not quite. I knew he was right, by now I could see it coming. I guess I wanted the Full Monty. The complete motorbike experience in WA - searing desert heat to torrential downpours. Well I got the latter part. Not only was the temperature literally half what it had been - 32 Centigrade in Port Hedland to 15 now, I got wet through as well.

I stopped at the town of New Norcia to put on my full wet weather gear. What a weird place. Here right in the middle of the WA wheat belt is a small town comprising mainly a Spanish Benedictine monastery. Has something to do with working with the Aboriginals. Pulling into the museum area, which also houses an interesting restaurant come pub, whom should be standing there sheltering from the rain but Dave and Judy. I am wondering if they are thinking I am a weird Californian stalking them. Anyway it was nice to see them again. By the time I reached Midland on the outskirts of Perth I was soaked through, cold and miserable and could not find the road south to take me down to the Kauri forests for the last part of my adventure. Cold shivering and lost - that is when you are at your lowest ebb. But of course eventually it stopped raining and I found my way to Pinjarra passing through first some sprawling new suburbs that looked disturbingly like the cooker-cutter housing we have in California and then through horse country Kentucky style. Lush green fields separated from the road by white fences and most likely a lot of money and attitude.

I found a motel room in Pinjarra which was described by the Lonely Planet as nondescript. True, but that was of little consequence when the bomb bay door is fully open and a payload of hot air is passing over a wet and weary motorcyclist.

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