10 Deserts Solo Cycle Epic

Birdsville became my hospice for 3 days whilst I waited for my chest infection to clear up. Both mind and body were glad of the need for 3 days R&R. I’d been on the trail for nearly 10 long weeks, and was wearing down. This was not a good feeling knowing the challenge of Australia’s toughest desert still lay ahead.

Three days R&R came and went quickly. The chest infection was well on the mend, and I was fresher to boot. Winds at Birdsville were still miserable; blowing the wrong direction (for me), gusting to near 80km/hr, but largely only during daylight hours. The retreat of storm clouds signalled better weather was on its way. A short recon’ out to Big Red with my back-up team revealed my worst fears. Any crust on the dunes had been blown away; see photo of big red below. I’d have to ride on soft unconsolidated sand, and on sand far finer than any I’d ridden up until this point. Big Red was way tall, but I’d already been warned “there are tougher dunes out there than Big Red”. My spirit sank as I begin to fear that I’d bitten off more than I can chew on this desert crossing. I’m also heading up the steep face of the dunes, and will diverge from safety (my nearest 4WD track) as I track further west. I will surely get significantly faster as my load lessens, but also need to consider a good margin of safety since there is NO WATER beyond Eyre Ck.

Follow up:

I resolve that I have come too far not to give my planned route a solid crack. If it comes to it, my one and only simple pull-out locale is Eyre Ck, only 25km west of Big Red. Who knows, I have surprised myself before with what can be achieved with a can-do attitude. At 2pm on 17th July, I departed Birdsville with my heaviest water load yet. It was tough enough riding with 60lt water and 10 (big) days food on simple gravel roads, but I knew this was nothing compared to what lay ahead.

I arrived at the toe of little Big Red at sunset as planned. I timed it this way to avoid 4WD traffic and becoming a tourist attraction via UHF radio. My massive load would reduce my travel to grovelling pace, and I didn’t really want to share this indignity with the world. As predicted, it was a solid slog, even having split my load to bike/trailer to get over little Big Red. I continued onto the junction that merges with the track to Big Red, and bivyed there that night. I’d be up before daybreak to get going hopefully before any 4WD’s start filtering through to disturb my progress.

The next day was the longest and slowest I have ever ridden. In a solid 12hr effort, I covered a meagre twenty-five straight-line kilometres. Feed-breaks were very short, and I only took one photo all day. Given 12 hours solid effort and such little forward progress, the writing was on the wall … I couldn’t continue on my preferred route beyond Eyre Ck in these sand conditions with this bike load. I was too slow.

I emerged at the 4WD track at the Eyre Ck crossing right on target for my heading. I could even see my back-up crews’ campfire nearby. They immediately knew it was me without any spoken communication because my Ay-ups are the only lights they’ve seen as bright as a star. My head movement quickly confirms I’m not a star emerging over the horizon. We discussed the options, and I resolved to continue supported along the QAA/French line. This was a disappointment for me, because I was already enjoying the navigation challenges and serenity of my off-track adventure. Away from the 4WD’s, this was the desert experience I really sought. In the swailes, even with massive water load, the bike and trailer handled brilliantly. I would have punctured hundreds of times due to Spinifex and so many other thorns out there were it not for the leather tyre/tube inserts and Stans latex solution inside the tubes. No flats!

The next morning I was releaved of my massive water and food load. I felt naked. I would simply carry 10lt water, communications equipment, all my tools, food for one day and following breakfast, camera, roll-mat, wet and warm clothing, and first-aid kit. I was sulking that morning that I had needed to change plans. There was no denying it was the correct decision though. I went to work to change my mind-set. I didn’t even know whether the French line had been ridden before. It didn’t matter to me though either. I knew travelling the French line by bike, even supported and especially in these windy conditions, would still be a massive undertaking.

Winds were again strong and gusting. Only two minutes after a 4WD would pass by, their tracks would again be covered by sand-drift. This definitely made riding so much harder than it would otherwise have been. To my surprise lots of 4WD’s were requesting assistance from others with snatch-straps after getting bogged. Some 4WD’s bailed south to the Rig Line, fearing too many difficulties presented by the soft sand crests at the top of each dune. Most traffic was heading west to east, the easy direction due to shallower dune angle. I also crossed paths with a few groups of trail-bikers that were quite taken-aback to see a push-bike out there.

Even on the French line, crossing the Simpson desert by bike is a significant challenge, and a worthy one. I have never used granny gear so much in my life. I enjoyed the technical riding in the soft sand, struggling just to keep my front wheel on the ground and maintain balance, sometimes at speeds < 5km/hr. Encouraging comments and some generous donations for the RFDS cause definitely helped lift my spirits. My topo had shown an average dune height of 15m in the middle of the French line, but there were a few dunes well in excess of this height. My Suunto trip computer altimeter identified a few dunes around 30m. From the top of one dune, I could see the average dune height was starting to drop off, well at least within my visible range. My spirit soared! I was going to finish my 10 deserts epic. I had done the hardest work, now just to put the icing on the cake.

Reaching the junction with the Rig road lifted a weight from my shoulders. I was effectively finished. From this point on, the sandy track gave way to compacted clay road, albeit with some encroaching sand-drift near dunes. At the last dune, a sign is mounted with warnings about the preparedness of 4WD’s being entering this territory. That’s worthy of a photograph with my Fatback alongside. Once again I cast my eyes on the salt-pan ahead of me. No more (REAL) dunes from here on in. I’ve made it. Now I can enjoy the ride to Alice Springs.