Right to the Edge: Sydney to Tokyo By Any Means by Charley Boorman Page A
Authors: Charley Boorman
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worries. I’m all good,’ he said, dusting himself down. He squinted at the bike. ‘First time I’ve done that in . . . must be two years.’
We crossed bridges, we rode through great forests of soaking trees and across the slippery clay. We rode high into the mountains where the views of the valleys were breathtaking. In the dips the road was flooded and in one spot we passed a ruined Mitsubishi van that someone had long since abandoned. It was way down deep in a forested gulch, and the water was so high that if I’d not been up on the foot pegs, it would’ve been over my knees. I loved it. I was relaxed again and excited. Maybe I’d finally woken up and taken a sniff of the coffee. I’m in my element on a bike, and with the bush so close to the road we really were in the middle of nowhere. This was croc country - swamp land and swollen creeks where trees were down and pockets of floating islands massed under fallen leaves.
Claudio and David decided to swap bikes. Maybe that was just a silly mistake, but I reckon it’s where I put the hex on. The KTM had already been down once and now Clouds was riding it - it was a recipe for disaster.
We were blatting along quite happily when the KTM started to cough and splutter as if it was running out of petrol. Then the thing just packed up completely. No matter what we tried we could not get it to go, and in the end David decided there was a problem with the vacuum pump that feeds the fuel to the carburettor.
‘It’s buggered,’ he said. ‘We can’t fix it here. You’d better give me a tow.’
I’d never towed a bike before and it was some forty kilometres back to the tarmac and on to Mount Molloy.
‘It’s easy,’ he told me. ‘You tie this end of the rope to the back of your bike and I pass the other end under the steering head.’ Sitting astride the KTM, he then wound the rope around the handlebars and held on to the loose end. ‘That way I can just let go,’ he said, ‘so if there’s any drama you don’t drag me and the bike down the road.’
It made sense and I suppose I should’ve known that. When we went downhill I didn’t use the brakes but behind me David did; that way the rope stayed taut, and with no further incident we made it for lunch at the Loco Lobo in Mount Molloy. David was right, the Mexican burgers were about two storeys high. Now we needed to figure out how to complete the last stage of today’s journey, with one bike down. Thankfully David’s brother-in-law was able to bring a spare bike. When we had finished eating, we left the KTM and Claudio rode with me while David flagged down the support truck and picked up his brother-in-law’s Suzuki once we reached Mossman. I’d already phoned Diane and explained we’d be a little late.
It had been a long and tiring day but a bloody good one and we had covered some miles in the best way possible. Now I was itching to see Diane, sip a little champagne and, as David said later, eat a meal fit for a king.
4
No Fear (or Not Much, Anyway)
KARNAK FARM IS KNOWN as the Playhouse because Diane has a five-hundred-seat theatre in the grounds. It really is something, accessed by a beautiful wooden staircase - the stage is part of her garden and the backdrop is a lake. I remember years ago taking a strimmer to the weeds before the lake was sunk. Diane Cilento is semi-retired now, but in her day she was a very successful actress and back in 1963 she was nominated for an Oscar. She has never lost her love of the business, and she has all sorts of theatre groups performing at Karnak.
It’s a gorgeous property. The main house is built among palm trees with sculpted lawns that fall away in terraces. It’s a shame we could only stay for one night, but now we were heading for Cooktown where Claudio and I were hitching a lift with a boat surveyor in a light aircraft. Tonight we’d be staying at a famous old pub called the Lions Den, near the Aboriginal community of Wujal Wujal. We’d be riding
We crossed bridges, we rode through great forests of soaking trees and across the slippery clay. We rode high into the mountains where the views of the valleys were breathtaking. In the dips the road was flooded and in one spot we passed a ruined Mitsubishi van that someone had long since abandoned. It was way down deep in a forested gulch, and the water was so high that if I’d not been up on the foot pegs, it would’ve been over my knees. I loved it. I was relaxed again and excited. Maybe I’d finally woken up and taken a sniff of the coffee. I’m in my element on a bike, and with the bush so close to the road we really were in the middle of nowhere. This was croc country - swamp land and swollen creeks where trees were down and pockets of floating islands massed under fallen leaves.
Claudio and David decided to swap bikes. Maybe that was just a silly mistake, but I reckon it’s where I put the hex on. The KTM had already been down once and now Clouds was riding it - it was a recipe for disaster.
We were blatting along quite happily when the KTM started to cough and splutter as if it was running out of petrol. Then the thing just packed up completely. No matter what we tried we could not get it to go, and in the end David decided there was a problem with the vacuum pump that feeds the fuel to the carburettor.
‘It’s buggered,’ he said. ‘We can’t fix it here. You’d better give me a tow.’
I’d never towed a bike before and it was some forty kilometres back to the tarmac and on to Mount Molloy.
‘It’s easy,’ he told me. ‘You tie this end of the rope to the back of your bike and I pass the other end under the steering head.’ Sitting astride the KTM, he then wound the rope around the handlebars and held on to the loose end. ‘That way I can just let go,’ he said, ‘so if there’s any drama you don’t drag me and the bike down the road.’
It made sense and I suppose I should’ve known that. When we went downhill I didn’t use the brakes but behind me David did; that way the rope stayed taut, and with no further incident we made it for lunch at the Loco Lobo in Mount Molloy. David was right, the Mexican burgers were about two storeys high. Now we needed to figure out how to complete the last stage of today’s journey, with one bike down. Thankfully David’s brother-in-law was able to bring a spare bike. When we had finished eating, we left the KTM and Claudio rode with me while David flagged down the support truck and picked up his brother-in-law’s Suzuki once we reached Mossman. I’d already phoned Diane and explained we’d be a little late.
It had been a long and tiring day but a bloody good one and we had covered some miles in the best way possible. Now I was itching to see Diane, sip a little champagne and, as David said later, eat a meal fit for a king.
4
No Fear (or Not Much, Anyway)
KARNAK FARM IS KNOWN as the Playhouse because Diane has a five-hundred-seat theatre in the grounds. It really is something, accessed by a beautiful wooden staircase - the stage is part of her garden and the backdrop is a lake. I remember years ago taking a strimmer to the weeds before the lake was sunk. Diane Cilento is semi-retired now, but in her day she was a very successful actress and back in 1963 she was nominated for an Oscar. She has never lost her love of the business, and she has all sorts of theatre groups performing at Karnak.
It’s a gorgeous property. The main house is built among palm trees with sculpted lawns that fall away in terraces. It’s a shame we could only stay for one night, but now we were heading for Cooktown where Claudio and I were hitching a lift with a boat surveyor in a light aircraft. Tonight we’d be staying at a famous old pub called the Lions Den, near the Aboriginal community of Wujal Wujal. We’d be riding
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