Adventure can be anything you like. It doesn’t have to be a massive feat of physical strength and death defying endurance where you freeze your butt off on mountainsides or get chased down by a gang of rabid koalas looking to make even all the wrongs of their past. I mean, if that’s what floats your boat then by all means go for it, but I’m guessing that for most people (me included) the koalas are out and so is the mountain…for the time being that is. Once I build my skills and my self belief and maybe even my own crew I’ll be able to get Zen with that mountain and perhaps convince the koalas that revenge isn’t the best tactic for a peaceful revolution nor for their image. I used to think they were so damn cute before I wrote this. Now I’m not so sure.
Adventure is for all of us. It’s inclusive and is something you can pursue in your everyday life. All it takes is the first tiny step outside of your comfort zone.
I got a new bike: Pivot Les Fat. According to the the dudes who sold it to me, it’s the only one of its kind in Australia. It’s a nice bike, that’s for sure, but it’s heaps different to ride compared to Fatty, my Icon Fat Albert, so it’s going to take a bit of getting used to. For example, it almost got away on me down a massive hill last night! It didn’t help that it was dark and I could only see as far as the headlight beam spread: not far at all. Normally down that hill, I don’t have any problems with Fatty taking off on me because Fatty is slow, heavy, chunky and cheap! The Pivot is none of these things at all, especially the cheap part.
The cool guy I’m married to decided he needed to get himself a new bike X 2 so he could join in on bike adventures. While I waited for the Pivot to arrive from America, Fatty broke (I bent the derailleur and the brakes stopped working. I don’t think these cheap bikes are designed to cope with being ridden the way I’ve been riding poor Fatty), so I rode the Cool Guy’s new Norco Bigfoot 3, which he got upgraded with hydraulic brakes, Renthal bars, and Bluetooth seat dropper. I was able to swap out the shitty brakes on Fatty with the original Norco brakes. I feel a weird attachment to Fatty and feel kind of guilty that I’ve gotten a new bike and have been riding a Norco in the interim. Sorry Fatty, I still love you!
I took the BF on some adventures recently. I’d always wanted to ride along the side of the highway down to the Isis River, which was just a couple of puddles when I was there. This is just south of Childers.
BF at the Isis River, just under the bridge (Bruce Highway)
The same day I found a cool track in the bush and came across this hippy lady living out of her van. She was set up on a bush track in the middle of nowhere. There were plants growing out of the van and her tow vehicle. She was really happy and friendly and gave me permission to take a photo of her rig.
Hippy lady’s van in the middle of nowhere.
The BF and I went on a little trip to Toowoomba together a couple of weekends ago and we rode the trails at Gordonbrook just outside of Kingaroy and Russell Park at the Bunya Mountains.
BF on one of the trails at Russell Park.
I had a good buster at the Bunya Mountains. I didn’t get a corner right at the bottom of a hill and somehow fell off and got trapped in the bike frame because the handle bars had flipped around the wrong way. So, I sat there for about a minute trapped in the frame, trying to work my way out. I wasn’t particularly impressed, but got some awesome bruises that I was able to show off the following week at work. I was very glad that no one else was there to see how ridiculous I must’ve looked!
On the same trip I was able to go exploring and found this secret rail trail:
Secret rail trail. It’s not open to the public and I only found it because the little voice inside my head kept telling me to “just” go have a look around the corner, and another corner and another, until I found it. I was on foot, which was difficult enough. I’m not sure how you’d even get a bike on the trail. I love finding secrets in the bush. That’s what being adventurous is really all about.
In a little country town outside of Toowoomba I saw this awesome bike:
Part of an art exhibition
The BF and I also rode a fair bit at the local tracks at Cordalba. This guy didn’t make it:
I found this busted-arse car when I bush bashed my way through a secret track that caught my eye.
So, we have quite a bike family now:
Pivot Les Fat, Norco BF3, Specialised something or other (it’s got skinny wheels, so it’s not a real bike), Icon Fat Albert (Fatty). In the background is my awesome 4WD van, The Nonce.
I recently got a fat bike themed number plate for The Nonce. This is the caption:
I felt like was extremely clever coming up with this! No one else is likely to understand it, but I reckon it’s hilarious!
I really love being a fat chick because fat is where it’s at
Years ago I had the idea that I wanted to go to tattoo shows and write stories about the people who go to these shows. I even fantasised that I would write a book about contemporary tattoo culture. I was gunna be the next Hunter S. Thompson, but without the drugs and without the booze and without the ever present fag hanging out of the corner of my mouth. I had it all planned, I even bought a big fancy camera for it and then the government said NO! I kind of stopped paying attention because the whole thing pissed me off so much, so I directed my attention elsewhere, you know, to stuff that didn’t make me so cranky, like shredding it on my mountain bike. Because of this I might have missed the re-emergence of tattoo shows in the meantime. The Hervey Bay Tattoo show this year is the first one I’ve seen advertised in ages and it was ‘cos of the mountain bike that I found out about the show; I saw it advertised in a weird location when I was out riding last weekend: on the Toogoom boatramp.
Johnny Depp as HST in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Image source: The Guardian online.
I wasn’t sure what to expect at the show because I’d never been to one before. Overall, it was OK, but not super exciting as a spectator. I guess I might have tried harder to like it if I was getting paid to write about the event, or if my tattoos were in the show, or if I was paid to spit raps like one of the dudes running the event. In the end I had to leave before the judging because I’d run out of tolerance for sitting around waiting for something to happen. I asked one of the event people when judging would be. He looked at me like I really should have known better than to ask such an obviously ridiculous question, and said, “Could be ten minutes, could be an hour.” He kept glaring at me, so I called it and left.
I got to talk to some interesting people about their tattoos. I lobbed straight up to a table of bikies, simply because they looked the scariest. They all took a bit to get going, but they warmed up in the end. I asked Zipper why he got his tattoos. He and Andy both gave similar reasons: as a form of therapy. Zipper said it was better to get a tattoo than cut himself or hurt another person. He said he used to be very angry (he still kind of seemed that way if I’m really honest) and it was a way for him to manage his anger. I wanted to get a photo of them all, but given that Zipper had his sunglasses on inside, I didn’t think asking that would be very smart. This is Mad Dog, one of their crew:
Mad Dog announcing his charity ride
I talked to Cassy about her tattoos. She had some amazing realist artwork on her legs in WWII theme. She told me about her son and his traumatic brain injury from a quad bike accident. I got distracted by her telling me the details of the tattooist who did her artwork, so I didn’t write down any info about why she got these tattoos. Durr. Just as well I’m not getting paid! Oh well. I really love the female aviator on her lower leg.
Laura had Fuck Yeah on her toes, which was meant to be a matching tattoo shared with her sister-in-law, but apparently the SIL is chckenshit and will never get anything tattooed. Laura and her husband had a matching ink thing going on. I didn’t talk to everyone at the show, but out of the people I did meet, they were the only ones with matching ink. I didn’t catch Laura’s husband’s name, but he was a biker too.
Cassy leg
Patch on Mr Laura’s vest
Laura’s left foot. The other one one says YEAH, but I didn’t get a photo of it because that ankle was broken from roller skating.
I didn’t talk to these following people, but I liked their ink, especially the war-themed back tat.
Honour the Fallen male back tattoo
The tattooed lady
See, hear, speak no evil leg ink
Pretty lady with realistic leg ink
A very fit looking dude with lots of tats
If I ever do this again I’ll have to reacquaint myself with my camera and lenses instead of shuffling everything around every five seconds. I’ll also have to register as a journalist because then I won’t seem like some random weirdo just barrelling up to people and taking notes about them. Most people were pretty good about talking to me, but there was one person in particular, who after telling me how great they were, started acting all suspicious about what I was doing. They had a stalker and didn’t want the stalker to find them, which I found kind of strange given that they had just entered their semi-naked body in a tattoo show where photography was permitted without restriction. I just said OK and walked off. They aren’t included in this post.
I’m so grateful that I’ve put the effort into developing my interpersonal skills to the point of being able to interact with all kinds of people in all kinds of situations. I once would have been too scared to do this kind of thing, especially talking to scary-looking and potentially unfriendly people like the bikies. I’ve done this by exposing myself repeatedly to uncomfortable situations, which has taken the form of public speaking at large community events, speaking up about important stuff at work even though I was certain the consequences would be negative, approaching strangers on the street to tell them I liked their style, talking to homeless people about their situation and also by being a good listener. Kindness helps; kindness to self and kindness to others.
HST-esque Ralph Steadman Gonzo tattoo. Image source: The Bomb Tattoos & Curiosities
450km solo hike: Woodgate to Brisbane, Fraser Island Great Walk, Conondale Ranges Great Walk, Sunshine Coast Hinterland Great Walk, Cooloola Great Walk, Crows Nest NP, D’ aguilar NP, Mudlo NP, Burrum Coast NP, Bunya Mountains NP, Table Top Mountain, Mount Walsh, Mt Goonaneman , Utopia rock pools, Brooyar SF, Cooloola Wilderness Area……plus all the other SFs and NPs I can’t remember, and all the countless local walks I did, like walking to the pub on a Friday night, which is 3 hours each way, and wandering around in the bush looking for weird shit and hidden treasures, like these:
Surveyor’s scar tree in Burrum Coast National Park
Original Bridge for Gregory River crossing. Constructed 1921Old rail spikes I found on a secret rail corridor in Goodwood
I wore them into town and even out at night sometimes because I just love the way they look, plus I felt weird not wearing them if I tried to wear sandals or sneakers because I got so used to seeing my feet in them. I wore the hell out of these boots and I loved them. I’ve always worn Hitec boots, but they became next level when they switched out their Vibram soles for their current Michelin soles. The Vibram soles don’t compare at all to the Michelin soles because the Michelin soles are practically indestructible, plus they don’t go hard like the Vibram soles tend to do with time. This means they don’t get slippery on wet surfaces. It also means they’re kinder to your feet, especially on long hikes when you’re carrying a heavy pack.
I took Fatty out for a ride yesterday to a spot I found a while ago. It was awesome: I rode through a muddy creek and muddy water flicked up everywhere. I love it when this happens because for some weird reason it feels like I’m really doing something, really getting right into being in nature, and because I’m getting dirty, I’m doing it properly. I know this is ridiculous, but who cares!
I rode over a river crossing, up a massive hill and took off into the bush. I can’t tell anyone where this is because I’m not really meant to be riding there. It’s not private property, but still I’m not meant to be there, no one is, but I actually don’t care because I’m not doing anything antisocial, like illegal dumping, I’m just riding my bike. It’s a great spot. I really like it.
River CrossingThe area is all Wallum Scrub
I rode a fair way, but the track ended at a creek, which I couldn’t get across, so turned around to come back. About half way back I noticed a track off to my right. I’d already gone down a track like this on my way to the creek I couldn’t cross, so I kept riding, telling myself that it probably wouldn’t go anywhere and I’d get disappointed like I had when I’d taken the last side track to nowhere.
See, I love finding relics in the bush. The ultimate relic for me is a dead body. I want to find one before I die. I know it’s weird and I don’t care. A skeleton is what I’m really aiming for. This isn’t likely to happen, but it doesn’t stop me from getting excited everytime I come across a remote area. The next best relics are old abandoned buildings and weird stuff that is hard to explain, like how a car got to the bottom of a massive cliff that is nowhere near a road, or why a house in the middle of nowhere, still full of books, clothes and personal items was abondoned and left to rot, or how did this old Zippo lighter and leather tobacco pouch end up here in the middle of the bush, just for me to find twenty years after it was lost?
I got some way down the main track and decided that in the spirit of adventure and exploration I really should go back and check out the side track, so I turned around and followed it. It went for much further than the earlier side track had gone and I started to worry about where I’d end up because it was getting late. I won’t turn any corners I told myself, I’ll just keep going straight. I have a problem with knowing when to stop and didn’t want to end up in the middle of nowhere, fighting my way through spiders to find the car in the dark. God, I hate spiders! They always build their webs at face height across tracks.
My breath caught in my throat when I looked up to see the edge of a building come into view.” Holy shit” I said out loud. It was hard not to get too excited, but I made myself slow down, lean my bike against a tree in the direction of escape, and approach with caution. I left my helmet on so I wasn’t trying dick around with it incase a gunman came at me, even though I knew that wasn’t likely given the condition of the track I’d ridden in on – nobody had driven on it for a long, long time.
A drawing of the building I found in the absolute guts of nowhere. Wolf Creek much?
I thought I might find some bodies hanging from the beams in the theme of the Violent Femmes Country Death Song, but there was nothing in there. I’d done a pretty good job of creeping myself out by this stage, so it was just as well really. Here’s a link to that song. It’s my favourite Femmes song: Country Death Song
I swear, the Cooloola region is out to get me! The last time I planned an adventure here, The relentless wind blew me sideways on a bike trip on Teewah beach, which caused me to push my bike for 33km before jagging a lift to Tewantin with some beautiful people. Before that, I’d booked the Great Walk twice before only to have it cancelled by QPWS due to fires in the area. The Cooloola Wilderness Trail got me a couple of years back when I almost froze solid on the banks of the Noosa river. When I first got my fat bike, I drove all the way to Rainbow to ride for a day in the forestry, only to have the seat break in the first five minutes. Oh yes, and of course there was the bed incident at Teewah village in 2007, which is a long story without a happy ending in which I got to see someone I’d always loved for who they truly were: a horrible, horrible arsehole.
It’s not all bad though. I did find a $50 note on the side of Rainbow Beach Road in 2019 on my way there on a charity hike for brain injury. Plus, the community at Rainbow is really cool. Rainbow Beach is where my dad taught me how to swim safely in the surf when I was a little kid. I also had my first go at catching sandworms with Dad on the surf beach. I have always loved seeing the brumbies roaming wild in the pine forests on the way into Rainbow. It’s a really nice place and when I was a kid I used to say that when I grew up I would either live at Rainbow or on Fraser Island.
The hike started out fine:
At the trailhead: Cooloola Great walk
The first day from Carlo sandblow to Kauri campsite wasn’t too bad because it was only 15.2km. The worst part was getting up onto the trail from the sandblow. I was mindful of my hiking boots because the right one has a massive hole in it, which I’d only noticed the day before. I didn’t want my boot to fill up with sand, but after a while I decided to just forget about it because worrying about it wasn’t going to reduce the sand intrusion. In the end, it didn’t matter because no extra sand made its way into my right boot anyway.
I was hopeful I’d see some lightning sand (fulgurite), but I was too intent on getting across the sandblow to have a proper look. This desire to do everything at speed would become a problem as time wore on.
On the sandblow looking out towards Double Island PointOn the trail side of the sandblow looking towards the Great Sandy StraightsTrail marker at the start of the trail
I got to Kauri much quicker than I expected. There was a lot of “track clag”, by which I mean big tree falls blocking the trail. Some of the trees were massive and I wondered if they were infected with cinnamon fungus.I could tell that one of the big trees had fallen in the last 24 hours because I could still smell the chlorophyll. At this point I started to pay more attention to the extremely windy conditions. Would a tree fall on me? As the the day wore on, branches crashed through the canopy and onto the trail in front of me and behind me, but somehow I didn’t get taken out.
There were a lot of cool fig trees..
Fig tree: it looks like an alien has splattered itself onto the host tree
I’m not sure what species of fig these are, but they have massive fruit:
At the campsite there were two other solo hikers already set up. I was not expecting this and I wasn’t particularly excited about it, but nature doesn’t belong to me, so I have to stop thinking that I’m the only person who likes doing stuff outdoors. It was really windy setting up the tent and it had been raining on and off all day, which was really annoying for setting the tent up, but I managed to get it done before there was a major downpour. Argh! It pissed down rain all night long and I was less than impressed when water started dripping on my head. I have a $750 Wilderness Equipment tent: Water is not meant to drip on my head!
I was also a little bit worried about the wind. I kept thinking about all the fallen trees I’d seen on the trail that day. In the end I had to say to myself, I doesn’t matter if a tree falls on you because you’ll be dead, so you won’t know anything about it. All night I swear I could hear music. It sounded like a distant concert.
Campsite at Kauri. I was grateful for the lockbox. It meant I didn’t have to put all my crap in the tent.
The next day was a 20.5km walk to Littoria campsite. This was really hard because I walked too fast and as a result got royally fucked up by my need for speed. I also got bitten by a spider or a little snake somewhere along the trail, which didn’t help. About half way I started to think that I wanted to go home.
By the time I got to the campsite I could hardly move because my hip flexors were killing me. After I set the tent up and had stopped moving I realised I was in a bit of trouble because I felt like absolute shit (maybe from a combination of the snake/spider bite and the reality that I’m not invincible?). At this point I decided that it would be pretty stupid to keep going because if I did get sick combined with the obvious reality that my hip flexors would only get worse as the kilometres wore on, I would be in a bit of trouble. Someone was coming to pick me up at the end of the hike, so it was no big deal to get them to come and pick me up the next day instead.
Littoria is pretty much right on Kings Bore Road, which I knew was a way out to Cooloola Way, although I wasn’t sure if it was open to vehicles. There was phone service here, so I phoned the Qld government to find out if the road was open to vehicles. What a complete waste of time that was. They had no idea what I was even asking and would not forward my call to QPWS so I could get some local information. In the end I just winged it and it ended up being ok.
I walked about 10km out along Kings Bore Road to the intersection with Cooloola Way. It was a really nice walk and even though everything was killing me, and I had a massive headache, it didn’t get to me too much. I got to see this awesome creek, which I would not have even known existed had I not left the hike…
Teewah Creek. This is a really nice spot. Luckily it wasn’t too deep. It would’ve been good for swim.
The entire great walk is around 100km. I ended up doing about 50km. I can always come back to where I got picked up to do the remainder of the hike even though a ranger I saw didn’t seem too impressed that I’d been walking on Kings Bore Road. “I’m pretty sure I’m not a vehicle,” I said to him because there were signs that vehicles weren’t allowed, but none to say that pedestrians couldn’t use the road. It’s a real shame that these old road aren’t accessible by cyclists (bikes are considered vehicles by QPWS in some locations) because they’d be great for bikepacking. It’s a low impact activity, so who knows why you can’t take bikes on roads. A utopia of rules.
A valuable thing I learnt via this experience is that I need to treat hiking as recreation and not as a race because it’s not a race: I have to slow the fuck down. Also, just because you’re extremely fit from training on a bike and on a HIIT machine, it doesn’t mean you can just head off on a 100km hike if you don’t even go on short walks. Durr! I also learnt that it’s ok to call it quits, that it’s smart to call it quits, that it’s not weak to call it quits, that it’s the responsible thing to call it quits, that calling it quits in a situation like this means you are not a danger to yourself or to others, which demonstrates good decision-making. Being a good decision-maker is an essential quality for living an adventurous life, in fact, for living any kind of meaningful life.
…of all strategies, knowing when to quit may be the best…
Free State of Jen 