press pause

As places to break down in the Australian Outback go, it COULD have been a lot worse. Yes, Russell is crook! We conked out about an hours ride from Uluru, in driving rain, two days ago. Thankfully I'd just passed and filled-up with fuel at a roadhouse in the back of beyond, called Curtin Springs. Little did I know just how familiar I would be getting with the place!

I was riding along quite happily a few minutes later when there was a sudden loss of power, and I gently slowed to a stop. I had no idea what was wrong, and quickly realised I needed help, so I turned round and pushed Russell about 7 kilometres back to the roadhouse. I realise how lucky I was to be so close - there are 100km distances between these stops! Pushing the beast was hard work, and I was knackered when I got there. And very wet. And it was really cold. THIS was the arid Outback which was supposed to be bone dry and blisteringly hot, remember.

Quick description, of a stone built single storey building, with a counter inside. Four fuel pumps out front. Coffee for $3 was a spoon of Nescafe and splash of milk - JD, you would NOT be amused! To the side was a home-made timber and grass shaded seating area, and around the outskirts were some ramshackle buildings, many looking as though they started life as shipping containers. The roadhouse was one side of a family business which is mainly focussed on cattle. They have a one and a half million acres... I think larger than some European countries! We're 100 kilometers from mobile phone signal, though they did have a pay phone ... you buy special cards for it. But it was a Sunday afternoon and nobody was answering the bike hire firm's out of hours emergency number. Hey ho, no big drama I thought, I'll leave a message on the machine. Three hours later I left another. Two hours more, I called again. Trouble is they couldn't call me back on my mobile OR the payphone... only the number to the roadhouse itself which I carefully repeated each time I called the machine.

Every time the phone rang I thought, "it's them". Finally, eight hours after I arrived, they DID call back, to say sorry but there was nowt they could do now. I'd already realised that was likely, so checked into one of the 'budget' rooms ... inside one of the converted trailers .... and collapsed into bed, having spread all my wet clothes around the place and turned the air-con onto heating, and up to full blast. I was chilled to the bone. Anyway, tired I hit the sack. We could sort it tomorrow.

Tomorrow came, and being a Monday I could finally speak in real time with the bike hire firm, who, unsurprisingly, seemed reluctant to go to the expense of getting help to me, being that they were five days away by road, and the nearest motorbike garage was at Alice Springs, four and a bit hours away. So, using more pricey phone cards I made a series of calls back and forth, getting tips on things to try, going away to try them, failing, and calling back for the next helpful bit of advice. I got guys from the bar to try to push start me. It was raining again heavily, and their hearts weren't in it. Didn't work. I got one of the cattle ranchers who rides bikes to help me access the battery and try a jump start. Didn't work, though, bless him, Jim, who was monosyllabic, at least brought his tool kit out and gave it a go.

Eventually, it dawned on the hire firm they WOULD need to send help. But 'Sorry mate, it's a bit late in the day now, we won't be able to get anyone to you til tomorrow'. Again, I'd anticipated that, and checked into the luxury room for a second night. The one reassurance was that the breakdown guy would arrive at 11am the next day, and would either fix Russell, OR at least transport both of us to Alice Springs and a fully-equipped workshop.

Over the course of my 54 hours at Curtin Springs roadhouse, I wandered round approximately 44 times, looking at the collection of horned cattle skulls - some still with peeling skin - decorating the walls. And they also had a semi tame emu wandering about to scare the tourists. And a bite-y mongrel dog. But with me becoming a long-term fixture, the property owners did become very chatty and friendly. "You still here?" (obviously!) "Not gone yet, mate?" (Errr, no) "Any news then?" (nothing concrete). I was a nice little earner for them of course ... eating and sleeping and drinking at inflated Outback prices. Hey ho.

To be fair to them, because I was chilled and not getting stressed, I think they quite took to me, even though I was a Pom. They'd experienced enough people passing-through over the years to form quick judgements. And when I finally started to have proper sit-down conversations, they were salt-of-the-earth types, rough round the edges from a hard life, but with some fascinating stories to tell about their lives and trials in such a remote place.

The guy who founded Curtin Springs, Pop, is 84 and struggling around with a hip needing fixed, but soldiering-on. We shared a chat and banter, and I think the rest of the family and staff saw that we were getting on well, and came to join us. Suddenly I was part of the family. We even sat down together and watched the Melbourne Cup on tv in their home, round the back of the roadhouse.

1pm the next day, and young Stevie turned-up from "Desert Bikes". Again, bless him for trying, but he couldn't find what was wrong. We had taken Russell apart and tried for several common faults before he finally conceded defeat, and we packed-up and hit the road for the drive to Alice. So tonight, I'm here, in another hostel, a little sunburned from the drive, and not knowing when Russell will be back on the road. It was 6pm by the time we arrived here, and the workshop closed at 5.30, so nothing's happening until tomorrow. Curtin Springs was an unexpected, unwanted pause. But ultimately I think I got more of a taste of the Outback with my enforced stay there, and I'll certainly remember it well..... Fingers crossed for Russell's return