In June 1990, I stood on the side of the Lassetter Highway next to a dusty and dented Toyota Coaster with an oddball collection of backpackers and budget tourists looking at the scrub and red sand. The landscape was so foreign and intimidating that I might have been standing on the surface of Mars. I felt as though it was daring me to step away from the safety of the mini bus. One thought sounded loud in my head: “Don't lose sight of the bus or you'll die”, all while hearing the driver and leader of our tour, from Alice Springs to Uluru, Kata Tjuta and Kings Canyon, gruffly telling us to collect firewood for our camp that night.
My memory of the road back then was dirt and just one long set of corrugations. The driver had assured me the bus had heavy-duty suspension. I asked what that meant exactly but he didn't say anything more. Heavy duty was all I needed to know.
It's 2023, I'm on my own and riding a dusty and dented Honda. I'm standing on the side of the Lassetter Highway for the second time in my life staring at the scrub. I was expecting it to be just as threatening as it was the first time I laid eyes on it, but I'm disappointed. The highway is a ribbon of perfect tar now, rolling up and down and around scrub-covered sand dunes dotted with spinifex and desert oaks. The landscape seems tamer and it has lost its menace. After recent rains it is looking almost green, and many of the plants are flowering.
The bike ticks quietly as it cools behind me, outback schooners hauled by straining 4wds rush by in both directions. Their passengers cosseted in air-conditioned comfort, isolated from the outback by a steel cage. The landscape viewed through thick safety glass. To me, a motorcyclist passes through the landscape like you are a part of it, not an observer remote and disconnected like a passenger in a car. I fire up my bike and ride on towards the famous rock.
HEAVILY LOADED
The bike is loaded with everything I need for eight days on the road. I've decided on a mixture of camping, motels, roadhouses, selfcatering, pubs and whatever is available for lunch along the way. When I leave home it's bloody cold, somewhere around two degrees, so I've layered up. The bike has fresh oil and I've checked it over for anything obvious. Some people get carried away with this, but I've always taken a bit of a “she'll be right” attitude and I've always found a solution when that approach lets me down. Generally the motorcycle gods are kind and present a solution when things go wrong, as they did on this trip.
I head north and after a while I get off national Highway 1 and onto my favoured back roads.
