Disaster today.
I realised that I have lost my hat. “That’s not a disaster” I hear you say, “in the context of a motorcycle trip loosing a hat is pretty minor”, but this does not recognise the history and personality of this hat. When Mike Hyde (Twisting Throttle) lost glovey he was pretty upset and I do not know the full history of glovey or glovey and Mikes full relationship but he was pretty gutted and I fully understand. Not wanting to compare grief but my Tilley hat has been with me for more than ten years and has been through numerous adventures, travelling through Africa where, shall we call him Hattie, and I both collapsed with shock when a Lion roared at us, throughout Europe where we simultaneously tipped towards numerous historical items of interest, through Russia where I think Hattie just spent the whole time in the bag, but he was there never the less, and in fact has accompanied me pretty much every time I went outside in the last 10 years, tramping, hunting, picking Olives, playing sport, playing with the children where we laughed and frolicked together, getting the newspaper…everywhere . Hattie was not so much of a garment as an adventure and work companion,…. Well really a life companion. I am gutted and stood for a long time this morning looking at my top box and not quiet believing that Hattie was not there. I wondered if I had placed Hattie elsewhere but no, he was in pride of place riding in the top box waiting to jump out and join in the fun as soon a Helmut (He's German) got off my head. Perhaps Hattie got jealous that I was spending so much time with Helmut on my head and jumped out somewhere? Surely not, our relationship was deeper than that. Perhaps somehow Helmut became envious of my deep relationship with Hattie and somehow got Top Box to throw Hattie out as we were riding along, after all Helmut is the chief and commander of the rig if you think about it, so top box would just do as told. I am not sure how I feel about wearing Helmiut with that possibility in mind. But come to think about it and with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach I probably somehow left Hattie at the Bali themed guest house, as the room was visually pretty busy with lots of nick knacks and maybe I just did not see him, or perhaps I put him on top of the top box at some time and he blew off as we rode down the road. Sadly the possibilities are too many. I just hope that who ever finds Hattie appreciates what a great hat he is, although he is getting a bit faded and there is a substantial sweat mark around his brim, so it may not be immediately obvious. If they look inside the flap there is a piece of paper with my address in it and probably twenty bucks, perhaps a Saint will pick him up and send Hattie home. But which home address is written in there, where did I live 10 years ago? Oh it is all just too much of a disaster to contemplate any longer.
After the shock of discovering hatties absence and a few minutes of me stomping around checking everywhere we had a cooked breakfast and loaded up. As we were loading up a couple of Kookaburras’ laughed at full volume which I thought was cruel and unjust, they were probably using their animal instincts to sense my vulnerability at the knowledge that I was heading of without my loyal companion in tow. We rolled out of Childers and opened the taps northbound again, well then we closed the taps again pretty quickly as no one speeds around these parts it seems, even the Boy racers in their Go Fast Commodores which must reflect some pretty serious fiscal consequences if you are caught, unless Australians are all very law abiding by nature, but I find this hard to believe. We rode for almost two hours them stopped in a small town for some fuel, and ended up having a coffee as well, a Mugguccino, no less. I asked the Barista/waitress what a Mugguccino was and she laughed and said it s a Cappuccino in a Mug, how did I not know that, I ordered two double shot Muguccinos as I am all in for new cultural experiences. A tour bus of tired looking retirees pull in and orders al sorts of fried foods and sat around looking at each other as they ate, I couldn’t work out if they were having a good time or not. Dad pulled his bike to bits to try to work out why a general warning light had come on, and eventually figured it must be a light bulb problem. After a lifetime of trouble shooting such mechanical dilemmas he eventually fixed the problem with a Fonzie technique. He waked the tail light a few times with his fist and the warning light on the dash went out. Now that is the sort of thing that you just can’t learn from a book.
We rolled out after our Mugguccinos were drained and then got stuck behind a wide load being escorted by a Police bike, a BMW RT no less. This was the second time we got stuck behind this. The wide load looks to be a frame for a bridge or some other wide structure and there was no passing him, but it did not really matter as he was getting along at a fair old pace of about 80km/hr. Eventually they pulled over to let people through, Dad was standing up on his foot pegs at the time to get some circulation going and promptly sat down when the Police Bike Cop gave him a dirty look, I waved in a spirit of camaraderie to the police bike but he returned a steely look, he probably knew that I am not 100% committed to the speed limit. Speaking of speed the attitude is quite different to speed here. Clearly the speed limit is strictly policed and people take this seriously, but then the passing lanes are a curiosity. Back home the passing lanes are configured in a way the passer has the responsibility to rejoin the passees/ slower traffic, however here the slower traffic is ushered off to the side and the passers take pride of position then at the end of the passing lane the passees need to rejoin the fast lane, curious inconsistency.
Today was a big day. Big trucks towing big things (the biggest tyre I have ever seen), Big planes with big hills in the distance, big straights with big corners, big traffic flow in the big middle of a big nowhere, and big day in the saddle with a big mileage to show for it. We travelled 680kms and not much changed with the scenery. If yesterday was all about sugar cane then today was all about long grass and gum trees. That was the constant theme up this part of the country. It just highlights what a big country this is. It is inconceivable that you could ride for 680km in NZ and not have the view change dramatically, but that is what it felt like today. As we came in close to Mackay the sugar cane started again, although perhaps this is a different type of sugar cane as there were a lot of signs warning people not to bring in sugar cane from elsewhere, or bananas. Do bananas compete with sugar cane, are they an environmental disaster waiting to descend on this area, or is it disease related. I must look out for a Sugar cane farmer and ask him or her, or look out for someone who looks like they know a lot about bananas and ask them. I am not sure I can spot a banana expert just on appearance so it could be quite a challenge for the next few days. At least it will take my mind off Hattie. Oh poor Hattie, he is probably on some drug addicted hippies head in Byron Bay as we speak.
Anyway we stopped for a Subway lunch in Rockhampton then hit the road again, the only other stops were a brief stop at a stopping area in the middle of nowhere and a fuel stop at Carmila. It is a triumph of marketing with the road signs around here, they are really very persistent and repetitive. There is a big focus of fatigue and the importance of stopping frequently, with public health warning signs every half an hour or so, which keeps you checking yourself for awareness and fatigue, very good. But there are also a lot of commercial oriented signs on the same theme. There was one sign saying “Are we there yet?” then about 3 km further on “How much longer is it Dad?” then about another 3 km “How much longer is it Mum?” then another 3 km or so “Sorry kids, its still ages to go” then about another 1km a sign “Carmila Services- Fuel, Food, and Playground.” We were both feeling pretty good so “we just kept on riding Jenny”, and before we knew it we were in Mackay 680km further down the road than when we started. A big day in the Saddle. It was just on dark again as we rode onto Mackay and all of the Motels seemed to be full, but eventually we found one that had a vacancy and rolled in. Had some Fish and Chips, not so much as we were hungry but that it felt like we should eat something. No one mocked me for how I said “Fush and Chups” which was surprising. Better try to get some sleep. It will be the first time I have sleep without Hattie nearby for the last ten plus years, perhaps I will phone the guesthouse in the morning and check if Hattie has turned up.
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