Birtles vs Australia

platypus121

Tour Pro


ACT 5
In which there are Sparkling Jewels, a Town’s Tourist Industry is put in danger,
there are two welcome Finds, and Birtles suffers a sorry Mishap.


Cunnamulla to Quilpi http://goo.gl/maps/bPG6I
A: Cunnamulla B: Thargomindah C: Toompine
D: Quilpi



Go 66 kilometers west of Cunnamulla and you’ll find yourself in Eulo where the processing
of opals from the Yowah fields is the lifeblood of the town.
This miner’s house doubles as his processing plant and shop.

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I wander around the opal exhibits and have a coffee. Lesson for the day is that Yowah opals
are formed differently from Lightning Ridge or Coober Pedy opals. They are geological
oddities with amazing colour displays - but not enough for me to join those who spend big money on them.

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“A carat of good opal is worth more than a carat of good diamond,” I’m told.
I buy a very small one from the hundreds being sorted.

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With no middle-men it is just $5, tiny yet perfectly formed, with a display that puts a
diamond to shame … … maybe I could fall in love with opals after all.

The four images below are from the Yowah Opals website : http://www.yowahopals.com.au
At the lower right is opalised wood.

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Lake Bindegolly, between Eulo and Thargomindah where there are good riding tracks around the lake.

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Plenty of pelicans about, too. I’d like to see Long John Silver ditch his budgie and get one
of these babies up onto his shoulder - that would make him a real pirate in my book.

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Before Thargomindah there is a reserve for a string of mud springs called, very sensibly,
Mud Springs Reserve. The springs once served as release valves for pressure build-up
in the Great Artesian Basin. Irrigation bores now replace this function. Each spring has
created around itself a dough-nut shaped mound 3-4 meters high. In front of this mound
is a more advanced example of stane-stook. This one appears to be a Grade III attempt,
good enough for competitions at regional fairs and exhibitions.

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Emus are great fun. They add yet another element of uncertainty to travel in the outback.
Here, a couple on the right side of the road look across to two more on the left side of the road.
They are waiting until we get level with them before they start playing their favourite game. It’s called -

“Hey, Let’s all run to this side! No, that side! No, this side! No, that side!”

Peggie shouts encouragement to them - “Run ‘til die! Run ‘til die!”

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Thargomindah is great fun too, once you learn how to spell it. Birtles reckons it is
even better than Cunnamulla and, although I’m still undecided, he may be right.

It is a tidy town that has everything you would need or want for a comfortable,
if quiet, life in the country. We can’t figure out why it’s not over-run with Grey Nomads
and retirees - perhaps it’s too far from their usual North/South migration routes.
The shire operates the caravan park, so good service comes before profit and this
really shows. It is well maintained, spotless, and run by friendly and helpful people.
The $40 cabin that lures me away from the tent for the night would have cost $100 in most other areas.

When I hear the manageress talking about London, Paris and Thargomindah as if there
is a close link between them, I ask her to please explain. The local claim, a foundation
stone in the town’s tourist drive, is that these were the first three cities to have electric lighting.
Hmmm … she speaks with an Irish accent, she has red hair, she probably can handle it …
so I tell her about Reefton, a NZ town that also claims to be first town with electric lighting.

In Thargomindah this is heresy, I might as well say that the Earth goes around the Sun.
Will she summon the Inquisition, set me alight over Birtles’ fuel tank? No, she has heard
foolishness like this before, takes it calmly, and looks at me with quiet tolerance and pity.

“I’ll check that on the internet” her mouth says.

Her eyes are much more eloquent - “ Woe, for Truth is not upon this man. I must redeem
him from his blasphemy. I must Search, Search the Word of Google Almighty
and bring the misguided one back into the Light of the One Truth!”


When I next see her there is a neat pile of printouts on her desk. They bear out Reefton's
leadership in the electric lighting matter and expose Thargo’s claims as a mere fantasy,
a fragile house of cards on fraudulent foundations.

As the one who has seen a local town deprived of its glory, the chance to set the record straight,
to elevate Reefton to its rightful place, is offered to me - I must take the printouts to
the electricity exhibition and prove the displays wrong.

Maybe I’m a lazy bugger, but it would take interest, energy and misguided patriotism to
undermine the town’s claim to fame and I just can’t be bothered. Thargomindians
have a lot invested in the lighting story - all those displays, pamphlets, exhibits - and
they are happy with it. Let sleeping dogmas lie, I say.

Or not. The way those printouts are being straightened and filed, the locals may soon
hear the sound of cards crashing down.




Our best find in Thargo … Thargomindah Caravan Park cabins.
I don’t know if these are the best value in cabins Australia, but it would be hard to better them.

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Our second best find in Thargo … Marmite !!!
There were 12 x 250g jars stacked here, a couple of cartons of them out the back of the IGA.
They are sitting on a small fortune!

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Marmite is a NZ product that has a dedicated following. It is the type of spread that
you either love or hate, but if you love it, you love it with a passion. My brother lives
in the US and he gets it sent over from NZ - $7 for the big jar, $35 for the postage -
that’s how people feel about Marmite. So, when the only factory that made the stuff burnt
down last year, production stopped and what was on supermarket shelves disappeared overnight.

Some of it is reappearing on Trade-Me and sells at quite a mark-up. At the time of writing
there are 214 lots of Marmite for sale - two typical ones below. Buy at $2.75, sell
at $34 - pretty good profit. The wise ones are hanging on to their stocks for a year or two
until 250g jars of Marmite have reached $200 a jar.

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In an attempt to boost the local economy, I do some calculations on how much profit
there could be for the shopkeeper if she ships her supply to NZ, but she is unimpressed -
she’s probably been talking to the caravan park manager.





It is fortunate that the body is so well prepared by nutritious foods such as Marnite, as
today Birtles faces dirt roads. We could get to Quilpi on sealed roads past Nocundra
and through Eromanga, but that is 389 kilometres compared with 195 kilometres,
91 of them dirt, if we go on the direct route over the Dowling Track.

Track (noun)
1. A rough path or minor road.
2. Australia only - Unsealed road ranging from freshly graded dirt highways as
smooth as a new motorway, to goat tracks able to be traversed only in dry weather by
4WDs with winches and sand ladders. Note that the term ‘track’ does not automatically
imply suitability for vehicular traffic of a
ny type.

We consult the boys. “Climb, climb” urges Grimpeur, pulling forward against
his zip-tie restraints; “Ride ‘til die” shrieks Peggie, gripping the speedo cable more
tightly in anticipation; “… …” agrees Ringie through tightly closed lips.

That settles it - the Dowling Track it is.


My photographs of the Dowling are deceptive. They show what looks like a typical dirt
road, but this one has a surface like cracked glaze and is rock hard. The area must have
been flooded and when it dried the surface cracked open similar to drying mud on a
lake bed. The cracks are big enough to get Birtles’ forks pumping as if he is on corrugations.
Unlike corrugations there is no magic speed at which they smooth out and we progress
at 50kph or less, stopping every few kilometres to give hands a rest from the hammer
blows coming through the handlebars …

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… and to pull the front mudflap off the wheel. Got quite alarmed the first time it jammed, the screech
it makes sounds much more serious than just a rubbing flap. No matter how many times it happens,
when that noise erupts the immediate response is clutch in, engine off and stop asap.

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Towards the end of the ninety-one unsealed kilometres we strike something completely different …
a pair of traffic lights. The second one is about two hundred metres further on at the other end
of a short strip of new sealing.

There has not been another vehicle for more than an hour and I can see the whole of the
controlled area. We stop and wait for the red to change anyway as we are in Queensland
now - there could be a surveillance helicopter hovering about just waiting to catch a naughty rider.
A bit of a smell wafts up into the helmet as we wait and I assume it is the new wet tar.

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Wrong ! At a pub between Thargo and Quilpi we pull over and park outside the entrance door.
As I get off, I see petrol running from the tank area and over the engine. There is a bit of
bubbling on the cylinder head but no flames as Birtles gets short shrift and at a run is pushed
away from buildings and cars. First thought is that the tap has failed. That would have been
preferable to what it really is, a split down the left side of the tank.

By the time the tank is off birtles, there is only a litre of petrol left. It holds eight litres and
the 120 kilometres to Toompine would have used about four of those, so three litres
has gone over the engine. Birtles remains calm and points out that we should be
thankful, first, for the split being on the left - if on the right petrol would have gone over
the plug, and second, for the tank under the seat - it is full and will easily get us to Quilpi.

Top: The split cleaned out, area around split roughened up.
Middle: Knead-It plastic steel forced into the split.
Bottom: Layer of Knead-It over whole area.

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Patching and testing the tank took a bit of time, so no photographs of the rest of the day.
Tomorrow we fill the tank ... how good is Knead It ?





To be continued …….

Bernard
 
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steamboat

Getting the hang of it
Marmite!!!! in Oz? Arghhhhhhh!:eek: Infamy, Be gone foreign interloper,Vegamite :bow:eek:nly for the True Believers
 

platypus121

Tour Pro


ACT 6
In which Birtles’ troubles continue, there is a change of direction, and help comes from afar.

Quilpi to Brisbane:
http://goo.gl/maps/7Srd8



Overnight the Knead-It has become rock-hard hard, but from the front end of yesterday’s
repair the split has grown a further couple of inches. Looks like the vibration has created
a weak area running along the length of the tank. The arrow is where the first split ended.

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Time to re-think how to proceed. The plan had been to head west from Quilpi then
north on the Diamantina Development Road and through Jundah to Winton. About
680 kilometres of remote roads where losing the contents of the main tank again would
be a wee bit of a nuisance as distances between refuelling points are beyond the range
of the under-seat tank.
How much more will the split spread?
Will I enjoy it if another split starts on the spark-plug side?

I decide the safe thing to do is replace the tank. Using the-state-by-state listing of
Australian motorcycle dealers that back home I had downloaded onto the tablet,
the few bike shops “nearest” to Quilpi are phoned, hoping to find someone who can
point me in the right direction. I also call Pete back in Melbourne to let him know that
progress might be stalled for a bit.

Nearest is in quote marks because there really is nothing close to Quilpi if what you
are looking for is a tank from a twenty year old motorcycle, and the number of wreckers
in outback Queensland who may have a tank is small.

With no good news from the bike shops, the only sure place of getting a tank seems
to be Brisbane where if all else fails I can get a small one from 1-10 in Caboolture.
Joe can supply a five litre bolt-on tank - not big enough by itself, but by also squeezing
a five litre can in the pack it would do the trick.

There’s a call from Pete, he has located an XR tank, and do I want him to send it?
My view of cellular communication devices changes momentarily from strongly
negative to mildly tolerant and by the afternoon the tank will be on its way to the
Brisbane address I give Pete.

In my mind at this point, shooting across to Brissie for the tank seems no big deal -
Quilpi is in Queensland / Brisbane is in Queensland - and there is a pretty much
straight line route through Charleville, Miles, Dalby and Yarraman.

When I look at maps of Australia, I have to keep reminding myself of how much bigger
it is than New Zealand. Something like this helps to make it clear that Australia
really is “A BIG C<” …. and that Quilpi to Brisbane is 973 kilometres, not an overnighter on a Postie.

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Another Knead-It job is done on the new split. The Postie tank alone does not have
enough capacity, so at least part of the XR tank’s capacity is required. It will not be
fully filled to lower stress on the repairs - if it can carry four litres that should
be enough to get between petrol stations.

While the filler is hardening the rear tank mounts are made more shock absorbent.
The lady at the Quilpi hardware shop helps with this. I explain what is needed -
some high density foam or rubber strip to create a cushion between the tank and
its mounts - and she becomes really involved, scouring the shelves for anything
that might work. She comes up with a number of items ranging from large plumbing
washers to a doormat. The doormat is the one - it has a rubber backing and when strips
of it are wrapped around the tank mounts and held with zip-ties they form shock absorbing cushions.


We top off the Postie tank and put four litres in the XR tank and gingerly set off for Brisbane.
Five kilometres out of Quilpi and the repair is holding.

Stopped by a billabong, under a shady tree. No jumbucks here, though.

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When Q provides long-drops at rest stops, they mean what they say! Those last few steps
could make all the difference if you were in a hurry - after a couple of Mrs Mac’s products,
for example.

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The motorcycling routine of checking both mirrors every minute or so has to be speeded
up on Birtles. At 65kph other vehicles catch up quickly so the checking is done at least
every thirty seconds - just a quick glance - and it’s still surprising how quickly the
view in the mirrors can go from showing an empty road to a close-up of Kenilworth
grille. To this ritual we now add a tank inspection, running a hand over the split area
and checking the glove for petrol. Each time the glove comes up dry we become
more confident that the Knead-It will hold and over the trip to Brisbane the check
list becomes a mantra -

“Right mirror - Left mirror - Tank checking - Glove,
“Right mirror - Left mirror - Tank checking - Glove,
Hari Krishna - Hari Krishna - ….”




About Australian place names I have learned this: however I say them, it will be wrong.

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Shep-ee, She-pee, She-pie, Chep-ee, Kep-ee, all possibilites . Sometimes the local
pronunciation is so far removed from the rules of phonetics that I wouldn’t be surprised
if the locals probably call this place Cheeps … or Westminister. I’ll never know, as in
the rush east there is no time to explore Cheepie, or even catch a glimpse of it as it’s
set far off the road, but the sign does give me something to wonder about - what is it,
apart from its name, that makes Westminister so Simply Unique ?


A little further on we did find something unique, a roadside pub without its walls covered
with items discarded by passers-by.

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Instead, it had artwork, all done on old tools, and pretty good it was, too.
The saw was
too big to fit in the pack, and Birtles hates just strapping things to the outside as this
ruins his aerodynamics, so we left it there and just bought a coffee instead….

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… which we drank at a table covered with a painted circular saw blade -
see the table cloth through the centre hole?

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Nice campsite at Mitchell

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Making up alternative meanings for road signs is helping pass the long hours at low speeds.
This one’s easy - Emergency Ladder on Side Road.

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This one says it all:

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The loads on trucks in the Roma / Miles area have me puzzled until I see all the
waste cotton along the sides of the road.

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Reflections on Myall Creek at Dalby

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Kaimkillenbun sign inspires Birtles to put on a burst of speed as we approach Brisbane.

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Home of a disappointed farmer -

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The crest of the Great Dividing Range before the slow descent towards the east coast.

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For several kilometres over the twisting roads we avoid black spillage on the road, thinking
it is effluent from stock trucks. Just before Kilcoy, the spillage stops and there is a
large truck stopped at the side of the road. The driver is inspecting the fuel tank from
which a last few drops are dribbling out. He really needs some Knead-It, but the little
I have left will not be enough for his huge tank, so we pass by, giving him a sympathetic
wave. We lost only a few litres - this guy has made a significant contribution to OPEC.


At Kilcoy the Yowie has its own park. When I stop to photograph a statue of the local equivalent
of the Yeti, Birtles insists on modesty and covers the Yowie’s intimate items with a mirror.

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Cannot pass a windmill without admiring its elegant simplicity.

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She still hasn't quit ??

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We head towards 1-10 so Birtles can see his mates and so I can check the tank Joe
has just in case the one on its way from Melbourne is not a goer. At lights in Caboolture
a HD pulls alongside and the rider starts asking questions. When I tell him we are
going to 1-10 he says “Follow me”, and edges in front. At the green, he heads off
slowly so Birtles can keep up and pilots us all the way there. That is a nice gesture -
even though I knew the way already. I make Birtles promise to stop bullying HD’s.

Joe gets his mechanic to have a tinker with Birtle’s cam chain and I get a new
headlight globe as the Dawson has done that in as well.

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And then there is no longer any need to create mental diversions - the Bruce Highway provides
that well enough as we head a little south to where the tank is being sent, Sue’s aunt and uncle in Burpengary.

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Public holidays in Queensland delay the tank for a couple of days, so there is plenty of
time to give Birtles a good going-over, and to fix a broken wire in the loom where it
goes around the triple tree. He gets a wash and looks very smart ….

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…. a bit like me in the pair of knitted bootees that replace my riding boots when indoors.
Very comfortable, must get the pattern.

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The replacement tank has similar mounts and goes on without a problem. No leaks,
Birtles has full tanks and new oil, it's .....

"Climb, Climb", "Ride til die", "... ... "

Ok, Ok, you lot. I was just about to say .... it's time to take off the bootees ....
tomorrow we start heading inland again.



To be continued ....
 
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MGS12_8V

Getting the hang of it
Great read. Loving the trip, inspirational effort. wheres my leave form! Looking forward to the next instalment. :clap:

If you're heading across the Savanah Way, stop in at the Bedrock Village in Mt Surprise and check out Undarra. Hopefully they still do the wood fired pizza nights there and the owner will get the guitar out around the camp fire. Throw in a couple of coldies and youll be there for a couple of days! Great spot.
 

glitch

Mapping the next ride...
Staff member
:clap::clap:

Maaaate....more superb shots....again!

NOW I get where the tank was split, what a bastard of a thing.:eek:

This yarn is getting even better as it rumbles along....what an awesome read and gawk it is.
It's also a joy to go back to the start in between while waiting for the next bit to show up.
Bravo!!

:thumbs:
 

BB63

SV, DRZ & now DL Rider
At Kilcoy the Yowie has its own park. When I stop to photograph a statue of the local equivalent
of the Yeti, Birtles insists on modesty and covers the Yowie’s intimate items with a mirror.

Hate to say it, but the yowie has not had genitals for quite some years. It would seem that someone took offence and broke them off and every time that they were replaced, they would be removed again very promptly, so in the end they gave up and so we have a sexless yowie. :bs
Just so you know it Glitch, this is the park across the road from where we met up when you were up here.
Cheers Brian
 

glitch

Mapping the next ride...
Staff member

Hate to say it, but the yowie has not had genitals for quite some years. It would seem that someone took offence and broke them off and every time that they were replaced, they would be removed again very promptly, so in the end they gave up and so we have a sexless yowie. :bs
Just so you know it Glitch, this is the park across the road from where we met up when you were up here.
Cheers Brian



And just to clarify....I did NOT pinch a Yowie-dick (on that occasion) as a souvenir! :eek::eek: :rofl:
 
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