Quarantine and Mild Hogs in a Time of Covid

All was silent at the beachside townhouse as I surfaced from a deep and dreamless sleep; and it was dark. The ferocity of last evening’s storm had abated in the early hours; lightning, thunder, and gusting rain squalls had moved out across the bay towards Fraser Island. I tapped the face of my Iphone and was rewarded with an instant digital display; 5.03 am. A reasonable time to be out and about; Mel probably wouldn’t have agreed. We were truly fortunate not to be under quarantine as Mild Hogs in this time of Covid. I pulled on my hoodie and with cigarettes in hand, felt my way into the downstairs hallway and along to the front door. 

Easing back against the garage door so I could shelter under the upstairs verandah, I flicked the lighter, held the flame to my cigarette, and took a long, slow draw. The storm might have moved on, but it had left a residual pall of low cloud and steady rain. While not a downpour, it was persistent enough to soak anyone foolish enough to be unsheltered. There’d be no riding today, I thought. Well, we don’t do rain, do we?

Ozzie Hospitality and then Some

Last evening, while talking and savouring friendship and good coffee, David had foreseen the possibility of widespread rain. He’d suggested that we’d be welcome to stay for another day; indeed, for as long as we liked. That was so typical of Margaret and David’s hospitality; warm, welcoming, personal and laid back. And right there in the early morning darkness, another day at Chez Margaret and David, seemed like a great option; discretion, just had to be the better part of valour.

Quest for Coffee

I dragged the last possible whiff of tobacco from my cigarette; looked around for a discrete venue for butt disposal; and, checked the time again. It was 5.37am. With any luck, there just might be a coffee shop open somewhere along the Esplanade. I pulled the hood up over my head; edged along under successive verandahs until I reached the electronic gate; pushed the button; headed out into the street; and then, half sprinted towards the little village complex I’d noted the previous day.

And the coffee gods were smiling. Right there fronting the Esplanade, a couple of blocks along, was a cafe; lights ablaze with a twenty-something young man in black, arranging tables. I ducked under the awning and through the open door.

‘Am I too early for coffee?’ I queried.

‘Hell no . . . what’ll it be?’ He returned with a grin that made me want to smile.

‘Long black please,’ I said.

‘Milk on the side?’ he asked.

‘Nah . . . just as it comes, thanks.’

I eased into a chair near the door while he set to work.

‘Hell of a storm last night, eh?’

Yep, it was,’ I said. ‘Spent most of yesterday afternoon riding ahead of it. Wanted to get here before all hell broke loose . . . and we did, just.’

‘Staying long?’ He asked without looking up.

‘Nah . . . just until the rain blows over. My brother and I are on a bit of a road trip. Only planned to stay the night, but looks like we’ll be here for at another day at least . . . not that I mind – there are lots worse places.’

Perfect Morning

The barista decanted steaming water into a cup that already held a double-shot. He clipped on a spill-proof lid, and placed the container on the counter. Handing over a five dollar note, I thanked him, and sauntered outside to a table under the awning. The rain was light but steady and sporadic vehicles moved cautiously along the Esplanade. The Arabica was outstanding; hot and velvety with just a hint of bitterness.

And there it was, the perfect morning: nothing to do; a table to sit at; time to watch the world go by; great coffee; and perhaps, another cigarette or two. It just didn’t get much better than that. I thought about Margaret and David, probably still asleep in their townhouse just a couple of hundred yards north along the Esplanade. Their hospitality and camaraderie made it seem as though we’d known them forever.

But that was actually not the case. I’d first met David some eight years earlier at Bellingen, when Mel and I were heading south from Currumbin with our freshly imported Hundredth Anniversary Harley Davidsons. But, before I get into that, I probably need to talk about how Mel met a guy called Greg; because it was through him that I got to meet David.

Loud Sporties

Some time towards the end of 2006, Mel had arrived at our Dad’s place at Victoria Point not long after I’d hauled in from Darwin, with Sportster in tow. After taking delivery of the said motorcycle, Mel pottered around Brisbane for a bit; spent time with Dad and caught up with a few mates. Then, he loaded up and headed down the Pacific Highway towards home with his daughter, Jasmin, riding pillion.

Bikes, Bikers and Mates

I’m not entirely sure about the circumstances under which Mel and Greg started doing occasional rides together. What I do know is that Greg owned a Suzuki Boulevard. So, when Mel rocked up back at his place with the Sporty, it would have been pretty obvious to anyone living on Dandaraga Road that another motorcycle had arrived. I’d installed Screaming Eagle Heads, rejetted the carb, knocked the baffles out of the mufflers, and fitted a high flow air intake. The result was a bike that could rip your arms out of their sockets, rattle your eardrums and be heard a couple of blocks away.

Suffice to say that where two blokes live over the road from each other and ride motorcycles, it would have been quite extraordinary if they hadn’t started taking occasional rides together. And those occasional rides soon morphed into a calendar of motorcycle excursions; with Sunday breakfasts at cafes and restaurants around Lake Macquarie and beyond. 

Then, when I retired and took on running the Catholic Principals Association out of Canberra, Barb and I started spending weekends with our Daughter and Son-in-Law in Sydney. And, I made a point of nipping up the freeway to catch up with Mel on a regular basis; which, of course, explains how I got to meet Greg and his good Lady, Lyn.

A Politician and a Pastor

At the time, Greg was the Independent Member for Lake Macquarie in the New South Wales State Parliament; he still is. Now, ordinarily, you wouldn’t think a politician and a pastor would have much in common. But then again, as I was to discover, Greg is no ordinary politician; and Mel is not your garden variety pastor either. As I got to know him, over the weeks and months that followed, I discovered that Greg was, and is, rare in the world of politics. He has an wide circle of contacts, acquaintances, and friends; is exceptionally well informed and unstinting in his commitment to advocacy and advancement in his community; passionate about the environment; absolutely scrupulous about campaign contributions, expenses and claims, and hence, beholden to no one – a true independent. 

Now, prior to entering Parliament Greg was, for quite a number of years, Lord Mayor of the Lake Macquarie Shire. David, at that time, was Shire Engineer. So Greg and David not only knew each other, but were colleagues and friends. I guess, it was inevitable that when I got to know Greg, through Mel, sooner or later I’d get to meet David.

A Road Trip . . . of Sorts

In September of 2013 after our US Odyssey, Mel and I delivered our motorcycles to the Mainfreight Shipping Depot in Los Angeles; and ever since had been impatiently awaiting their arrival. Then, just before Christmas, we’d been contacted by A to Z Imports at Currumbin Waters and advised that compliance on the FXDL and Deuce was complete; the motorcycles were ready for collection. 

Now, it just happened that during the first week of the new year, Mel’s family and mine were planning a trip to Murwillumbah for Blair [Mel’s son] and Emma’s Wedding. So, we decided to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. The wedding was an ideal opportunity to fly to the Gold Coast for the happy event; collect the motorcycles from Currumbin; and, make a road trip of the journey back home.

Mel and his family travelled north a couple of days prior to the wedding, and pitched in to help with venue preparations. My family and I flew to the Coast on Sunday afternoon; hired a car for the short trip across the border to Murwillumbah; and, arrived in time to front for a family dinner at a local restaurant. In a FaceBook post later that evening, I’d irreverently dubbed this event The Last Supper.

Collecting Iron Horses

Early next morning we’d driven back to Currumbin to take delivery of the Lowrider and Deuce; complete registration formalities; and ride back to Murwillumbah in time to scrub up for the wedding. I do have to say that the gallop back was anything but inspiring. In order to meet compliance requirements, the aftermarket Vance and Hines exhaust had been taken off and replaced with stock components; this removal of a high flow system resulted in the bike sounding strangled and performing like a dog. I guess it’s hardly necessary to say that the first order of business, back at the motel, was to reinstall the Vance and Hines system; and, just like that, the Deuce came back to life.

The wedding itself was a sparkling affair that commenced with a Ceremony in the late afternoon and continued on into the evening with the Wedding Breakfast. Now, I don’t want you to think that my attention was not completely focussed on the happy couple, the celebrations and festivity. My thoughts were certainly diverted, but I don’t want you to think that. Truth is, I spent a goodly chunk of time daydreaming about the anticipated gallop on our Route 66 ponies.

Heading South

On Tuesday morning I was up early, packed and ready to go. Actually getting onto the road though, was a bit more complicated and long-winded. Persuading everyone to get up, organised, and packed was no laughing matter. But, by mid-morning Barb and the family had set off for the Gold Coast; from whence they’d fly back to Sydney. It was probably late morning by the time we got our bikes loaded, secured, on the road. and heading south. 

Although the day was cool and clear, an agglomeration of cumulus towers with heavy blue-grey bases was building out to the west. But, none of that mattered because we were on the road with full tanks and a couple of days in hand. With commitments early in the week, but not wanting to be entirely left out of the fun, Greg had arranged with Mel to meet at Grafton on Wednesday. That being the case, we only had a couple of hundred kilometres to cover and all day to do it.

So, without pressing engagements or definite itinerary, beyond catching up with Greg, we worked our way south; making random stops for food, occasional photographs, and coffee. Even without being under load our exhausts set up a hefty, rhythmic thump that echoed back at us as we cruised through cuttings or past stands of native timber. I’m not sure about Mel, but I was suddenly right back in the State Forests of Michigan; it was magic.

Rain? We Don’t Do Rain!

Frequently during that afternoon, our gallop south had been interrupted by rain squalls; each a rationale for getting off the road and seeking refuge in a coffee shop or roadhouse. Throughout the day, our time off road was spent adding detail to events that had occurred while we’d been in absentia from each other’s lives. We also yarned about inconsequential but important things, and laughed at the countless foibles and absurdities that formed the tapestry of our respective pasts.

In the end, it was mid-afternoon before we throttled back on the outskirts of Grafton. Cloud cover had increased progressively and, as the day had worn on, shower activity became more frequent. Had we been planning to continue further south towards Coffs Harbour, there was no real doubt that we would have ended up as wet as a couple of shags on a rock. As it was, we avoided all of that by pulling into the Espaňa Motel just south of Grafton’s CBD. 

Great Dividing Range

In truth, I don’t remember, after all this time, whether we caught up with Greg that afternoon, or early the next morning. In the end, I guess it doesn’t really matter; we did catch up with him. What does matter is that on Thursday morning, rather than continuing south on the Pacific Highway, we took the old Armidale road and headed out into the Great Dividing Range.

Mist shrouded the upper slopes, and the higher we climbed the more dense the mist became. It was a bit like riding through water vapour. Then, as we continued on to Nymboida, the blanketing mist morphed into drizzling rain. So, on reaching the Nymboida River, we throttled back and pulled into the car park of the Coaching Station Inn.

Museum of Interesting Things

Back in 1999, Russell Crowe had purchased Nana Glen Ranch in the Nymboida area at a reported price of $750,000. Since then, he’d acquired a further nine surrounding properties comprising hundreds of hectares. Crowe also scooped up an expanse of river-frontage land; one particular six-hectare pocket reportedly cost some $1.3 million. None of this was of any particular interest except that in 2010, Crowe established the Russell Crowe Museum of Interesting Things; and we’d stopped and parked at that very museum.

Unfortunately, by the time we got there in 2014, the Museum had closed; and was reportedly for sale at an asking price of around two million. None of us seemed sure whether this included the Coaching Inn or not. Either way, it didn’t really matter because that morning the three of us together probably couldn’t have put together the deposit; even if we wanted to. We ferretted around and tried looking through dusty windows; most of the Interesting Stuff still seemed to be there. 

All that having been said, it was truly magnificent country. I could see why someone like Russel Crowe would want a chunk of land along the Nymboida River as a refuge from the hype and glitz of Hollywood. Sadly, the Coaching Inn was as closed as the Museum of Interesting Things; we settled instead for wandering over to the lookout, surveying the course of the River, and gazing away to the mountains and ranges in the distance.

Moving On

After the best part of an hour, we climbed aboard our iron horses and continued south southwest; along the old Armidale Road, through Cloud Creek, and on to Billys Creek. On that day, Cloud Creek seemed to be particularly aptly named; we were riding in mist and cloud, a strong westerly, and drizzling rain. Essentially we were heading along the Great Dividing Range; that massive spine of mountains that traverses the length of the country from north to south and separates the coastal fringe from the interior.

We pushed on through Dundurrabin and into increasingly persistent rain. Now, I’m a firm subscriber to the notion that the worst day on the road is still better than a good day at the office, but I have to admit, persistent rain all along this section of the Great Divide made for less than optimal riding. It was miserable, and more than a little cold. So, at the junction with Tyringham Road, we took a left towards Dorrigo; this would take us down to the coastal lowland. After a coffee break we commenced our descent and headed past the Sherrard and Newell Falls to Thora. 

Leif Lemke’s Spread

David had arranged to meet us at Leif Lemke’s spread on the banks of the Bellinger River. In earlier years, while Greg was still Mayor of Lake Macquarie Shire, Leif had provided the Council with consulting services and advice around conservation and environmental protection issues. Eventually though, with an undeniable impulse to live off the grid, Leif had gone north; he’d purchased a parcel of natural bushland fronting the River and backing onto the Bellinger River National Park. 

Greg’s plan had been that we would stay over with Leif, before heading back to Lake Macquarie; and in my case, Sydney. In addition to his wanting to catch up with an old mate and colleague, Greg thought it possible, given Leif’s surname, that he may have been a distant relative of ours; Mel’s and mine, that is.

Just after Thora, we took a right onto Darkwood Road and, in sporadic drizzle, headed west along a muddy track that followed the course of the Bellinger River. Ultimately, we did reach Leif’s spread; and sheltered our motorcycles in an old shed largely constructed of pit-sawn timber. Mist and cloud clung to the slopes of the wilderness area that is the Bellinger River National Park as Leif took us on a guided tour of his property. 

An Engineer and then Some

Our stay was a particularly laid back and convivial affair that continued through the afternoon and into the evening. There was a cleansing ale or two, hearty food, great coffee, and quiet conversation; all set to the tranquil background music of the Bellinger River. Although David knew Greg well, he’d only just met Mel and me; and this, I thought, explained why he seemed a little reserved. 

David listened attentively but only sporadically offered an opinion or made comment. I soon discovered however that whenever he did speak, it was worth paying attention. His comments and observations seemed to be carefully considered and well-informed. It was only later that I discovered that this was pretty much part and parcel of the man. 

While not overly tall, his wiry build gave the impression that he stood head and shoulders above the rest of us. With a full head of wavy hair that had started to grey, he had chiselled features that framed clear eyes; an easy smile that lit up his face; and, a solid handshake. Since that first meeting, I’ve learned that David is quintessentially understated; there is a great deal more to the man than meets the eye – and what met the eyes is not too shabby.

German Diaspora

The next morning we observed gentleman’s rules; a hearty breakfast with good coffee, affable conversation, and more than a little laughter. But, by the time we headed out onto Darkwood Road, Mel and I still hadn’t managed to nail down whether or not we actually were related to Lief. Our Grandfather, from Hanover, had jumped ship in Port Pirie a few years before the turn of the twentieth century. Lief’s heritage was Scandinavian, though his family had originally migrated there from Germany. I guess it was possible that we shared a lineage somewhere in the past, but in the end we were not able to define the exact nature of that shared heritage; if, indeed, it existed at all.

Mel was riding his 2003 Hundredth Anniversary FXDL; Greg had ditched the Boulevard and was now on a Victory V-Twin; David was on a deep blue V Star Cruiser, I think; and, I was riding my 2003 100th Anniversary Deuce. Mist hung low on the slopes of the ranges and along the course of the Bellinger River as we steered cautiously around the puddles we could avoid; and though those we couldn’t. Although it wasn’t actually raining, it felt as if it was; the moisture laden mist was heavy, and large trees on either side of the unmade road spread branches wide to form something of a tunnel.

Mild Hog Naisence

Eventually though, we reached a sealed surface and took a right towards Urunga. Although it was mid morning, the residual mist, low cloud and complete absence of direct sunlight made it seem a lot earlier. Then, just north of Urunga we encountered the Pacific Highway, took a right and headed south past Nambucca Heads and on towards Kempsey.

We stopped there only long enough to refuel and get coffee before getting back on the road. Mel and I usually don’t push too hard on road trips. Although we’d only just started doing extended rides together, a consistent pattern had developed; frequent breaks for coffee and a cigarette for me, conversation and laughter, and a low care factor about arrival and departure times. On this particular ride though, all indications were that the weather would continue to close in, and the odds of getting pretty wet seemed to be increasing as the day wore on. So, after Kempsey, we pushed on past the Port Macquarie Turn-Off and on to Kew. 

Far Kew

You could be forgiven if you’ve never heard of this tiny settlement just off the Pacific Highway; there’s almost nothing there. However, at Kew an enterprising soul with a bit of a sense of humour set up a coffee shop; a sort of Bikers’ Rest called Far Kew. Now, if you say that out loud, and quickly, you’ll see what I mean about a bit of a sense of humour; and yes, you can buy T-shirts with Far Kew emblazoned on the front and/or back. These days, I believe the original coffee shop has been superseded by the Far Kew Emporium: purveyor of a wide range of inappropriate clothing and quaint bric-a-brac.

Well, we didn’t buy T-shirts; or even stop for that matter. As the weather closed in on us, we cracked open our throttles and hurried on past the Taree turn-off and over the Manning River Bridge. At Nabiac, we pulled off for lunch and an impromptu wander through the National Motorcycle Museum of Australia; a must for any motorcycle tragic or petrol head. And, no sooner had we paid our dues and stepped inside than the heavens opened and the threatening weather delivered on its promise; it hammered down.

National Motorcycle Museum of Australia

Nabiac is some 140 kilometres north of Sydney and just off the Pacific Highway; and the National Motorcycle Museum of Australia is right there. You can’t miss it; and we didn’t. And, if you think National Motorcycle Museum of Australia is a little self-aggrandising, you could bear in mind that they have over 800 motorcycles on display; of every possible make and description. I’ve probably visited most other motorcycle museums in Australia over the years, but nothing on this scale.

We ended up spending a couple of hours at the museum; mainly because that was how long it took to stop hammering down. Eventually though, we got back on the road and continued south through Bulahdelah and then on to Wallsend; where we parted company with David as he headed back home to Valentine. For our parts, Greg, Mel, and I got onto the Pacific Motorway and accelerated south towards Sydney.

Genuflecting

Greg and Mel took the off-ramp for Morisset while I put my head down, picked up the pace, and continued on to Sydney. It was getting late and rain squalls kept making my journey uncomfortable; and at times more than a little dangerous. At Wahroonga, I took the off-ramp and started working my way through the burbs and occasional gridlock. It took me longer to get from Wahroonga to Petersham than it had taken to get from Nabiac to Wahroonga; go figure.

Finally, I shut down and rolled back into the curb in John Street, just outside our daughter’s terrace at a little after 10pm. I was soaked to the bone and cold; even my boots were waterlogged. But, after a hot shower to wash away the grime, I brewed a strong dark Arabica and sat out on the diminutive front verandah; to savour the coffee; have a cigarette; and watch the rain highlighted by a glow from the street lamp. 

You discover a fair bit about the people you’re riding with on a road trip; and the longer you spend on the road, the more you discover. On this trip, I’d met David for the first time, and had really only spent a couple of fleeting days with him. But, as I sat there on the verandah of our daughter’s inner city terrace and mulled over those couple of days, I just knew that this was not any ordinary bloke. There was in him a depth of humanity and decency that you don’t often find. As things turned out, I was to get to know David a whole lot better. 

Riding the West Coast

I’m not sure who initiated the idea but during the early part of 2014 we arrived at a collective decision to ride the US West Coast from Seattle to San Diego. Greg, David, Mel and I purchased motorcycles in the US and in late September converged on Seattle to start our two week West Coast Ride.

I got off the plane at SeaTac International around mid-afternoon, after about 24 hours in the air and another 6 in terminals; and took a cab to the Best Western on 25th Avenue just off South Federal Way. Mel was already there. Greg and David, riding from Idaho, were due later in the afternoon. 

When daylight started to fade, Mel and I began to worry about the whereabouts of Greg and David. As things turned out, they’d reached Seattle but had gotten lost in that great city’s maze of roads. I was to learn later that Greg has something of a talent for getting lost in unfamiliar cities and circumstances. Ultimately though, with a little assistance from Mel, they did arrive in time to celebrate the occasion of David’s Birthday.  

Mild Hogs it is Then

The next day we took a brief excursion to Victoria, BC via high-speed ferry and stayed overnight at the Empress. That being done, we headed back to Seattle to get on the road; around the Olympic Peninsula; down the coastal highway to San Francisco; then on to Los Angeles and ultimately San Diego.

On that ride, we accumulated countless stories and anecdotes that have become part of the rich tapestry of our lives on the road. But, I guess this is not the place to detail those stories; perhaps there will be time and space for this in another one of my yarns. 

One enduring takeout from that road trip though, was the name we adopted for our road trip troupe; the Mild Hogs. Another was the opportunity we all had to get to know each other.

New Perspectives and New Roads

I learned for instance, that David looked at the world from a perspective quite different to my own; and perhaps most others. While a capable user of technology, his preference was to rely on printed maps. Early on, he purchased such a map and recorded our precise progress down the West Coast with a fluorescent highlighter.

Right up front, David declared himself, in his characteristically understated style, to be the least experienced rider of the group. So, Mel took on the mantle of Road Captain; and, I slipped in behind the group as Tail End Charlie. The first few days on the road were sodden as we worked our way around the Olympic Peninsula; and then headed down the Pacific Coast. The Pacific Northwest can be like that.

Motorcycle Handling 101

Our days were crammed with camaraderie, good humour, good food and more sights and vistas than any group of old blokes could possibly get their heads around, or articulate. David might have been less experienced than the rest of us, but his riding style was predictable and precise. It was not until the last day of our trip that I saw the extent of his natural motorcycle handling skill.

We’d stayed overnight at Chula Vista with Mel’s friends; Pam, Mike and his good Lady, Reiko. Then, after a leisurely breakfast together we took to the San Diego Freeway and headed back to Los Angeles; to deposit our motorcycles with Mainfreight Shipping. The gridlock of early morning had subsided and while traffic remained heavy, it was moving fast; in all eight lanes. Mel and Greg worked their way ahead by slipping in and out of multiple lanes. David opted to hold his lane and go with the flow; and I, never comfortable with lane-splitting at speed, followed suit. Then, without warning, the vehicle directly in front of us slammed on the brakes. 

Emergency Braking

Now, if you’ve ridden on any of Los Angeles’ freeways, you’ll know that even heavy traffic scoots along at 70+ mph; and that’s what we’d been doing. On the extreme inside lane, as we were, with only a narrow safety lane and a concrete barrier separating us from the oncoming traffic, there was no place to go. I hauled the brakes on so hard the forks bottomed out and I just knew I wasn’t going to stop; I did the only thing I could do, and swerved into the narrow safety lane. Then I looked across to see how David was travelling. 

Smoke belched from both front and back tyres and the front forks looked to be hard down against their stops. David was riding his 2003 100th Anniversary Heritage Softail with a dry weight of around 330 kg. Fully loaded, with a rider in the saddle and luggage, that motorcycle would have tipped the scale at around 430 kg; a lot of machinery to slow down, never mind stop. But stop he did, with about 20 centimetres to spare. And for the 20-30 metres before he came to a standstill, I watched a masterful demonstration of adroit steering, weight-shifting, balance and extreme braking. Fewer than one in twenty people could have done that.

Seeing what you Know

But perhaps the most telling incident involving David was to come several years later.

As a group, we’d ridden north from Boise Idaho into the Canadian Rockies. On our return, we traversed Beartooth Pass and stopped at a viaduct and lookout; overlook, if you’re American. Here, a mountain stream cascaded hundreds of feet down the rocky mountain face to flow under a viaduct constructed to follow the curvature of the road.

After taking multiple photographs of the crystal clear stream and magnificent vistas spread out below, I wandered back to where we’d left our motorcycles; and encountered David. He’d been photographing structural features of the viaduct we’d just crossed.

‘Hey Lester,’ David exclaimed enthusiastically, as I approached.

‘Have you had a good look at the viaduct?’

Well, in truth, I hadn’t. I’d been admiring the vista and taking pics of cascading water.

‘It’s fantastic, a real feat of engineering . . . especially when you consider that it was built in the 1930s.’

He was absolutely right, of course; the viaduct was a superb piece of engineering. I’d missed the point completely because I hadn’t been paying attention; but David had. So there it was, David’s focus on essential detail; his appreciation of the finer points of the structure; and his respect for the achievement of the engineers who’d designed and built that viaduct.

Mild Hog Expansion

On that particular road trip, we’d met Margaret, David’s good Lady. And what a fabulous addition to the Mild Hogs she’d turned out to be; accomplished, warm, outgoing. She has a wicked sense of humour and a natural talent for having a good time.

Now, you may well wonder why I’ve headed down this rabbit hole during what was supposed to be a yarn about two old blokes doing a road trip in Queensland. Well, there is a rationale; kind of. Firstly, the story of our stay in Hervey Bay would have been incomplete if I hadn’t told you how we’d met Margaret and David. In addition, it was early morning; I had a packet of cigarettes, a good coffee and time on my hands. In such circumstances, my thoughts tend to have a mind of their own.

On with the Day

Now, while I’d been sitting there musing, watching people and the increasing traffic, the steady rain of early morning had progressively dwindled; what remained were misting showers that came and went on an intermittent breeze. The dense grey pall had lifted and a few slivers of brilliance around the edges of thick cloud, held promise of sunshine later on. Along the Esplanade joggers pounded the pavement on the beachside cycle track while others strolled; singly and in pairs.

I collected my chattels, stubbed out my last cigarette, wished my favourite barista a good day, and headed back towards Chez Margaret and David. And, when I got there, I discovered that Mel was out and about, and chatting with David.

AcquaView

‘Not such a bad day,’ I said.

‘Yeah, we could probably have taken to the road after all . . . was wet early on though.’

‘How would you know it was wet early on?’ I asked with a smirk.

‘David told me,’ he said. ‘Smart arse!’

‘OK . . . well, I haven’t got my riding hat on today,’ I responded.

‘Good . . . was hoping you’d say that,’ Mel responded with a grin.

‘Why don’t we just kick back and, when the time’s right, get some breakfast,’ he added.

Idiot’s Guide to Hervey Bay

And that’s pretty much how things went. By 9.30ish we’d wandered south along the Esplanade to the AquaView; located right on the beach. They were purveyors of fine coffee, and a better than average breakfast – according to Margaret. Mel, as he is wont to do, gave serious attention to the menu and quizzed the wait staff over one or two finer points; I simply had what he was having.  

Now, for those of you who haven’t visited, Hervey Bay is located on the shores of a bay of the same name; not so much a city in the traditional sense, as an agglomeration of holiday accommodation interspersed with the homes of permanent residents. With a populace of a little over 55,000, residential and holiday apartment development appears mostly to be distributed within spitting distance of the water. 

The economy is mainly reliant on tourism; and this seems to be based primarily around whale watching, ferry access to Fraser Island, access to recreational fishing and boating, and the calm beaches with wide undeveloped foreshore zones. In 2019, Hervey Bay was designated First Whale Heritage Site in the world; and recognised for its commitment to sustainable whale and dolphin watching. Incidentally, a study published in 2010 concluded that people on the Fraser Coast were the happiest in Australia. Clearly, this was a fairly optimal place to live.

Hervey Bay Heritage

Before establishment of the Queensland Penal Colony, the Batjala were residents and traditional custodians. James Cook sighted the area on May 22 1770, while carrying out a survey of the east coast of Australia. Apparently though, Cook didn’t realise that Fraser Island was separate from the Mainland. Wary of shallow waters in the bay, he hadn’t sailed far enough south to make the distinction; which makes you wonder about the quality and accuracy of his coastal survey, doesn’t it? Cook named the area for Augustus John Hervey; 3rd Earl of Bristol and later a Lord of the Admiralty.

The area used to be serviced by a rail link from the main North Coast line that diverted from Aldershot and went through Takura, Walligan, Nikenbah then on to Pialba and Urangan. In its day, the line carried freight for the Port of Maryborough and the sugar cane industry; but by the 1980s road transport had usurped this role.

Breakfast by the Beach

Situated some four hours’ drive north of Brisbane, and about 30 minutes from Maryborough. The city is served by the Hervey Bay Airport, with direct flights from Brisbane and Sydney; and passenger and vehicular ferries to Fraser Island.

Anyway breakfast, when it arrived, was well worth waiting for; and the coffee was way better than average. The sun had broken through cloud cover and burnished the crests of the low waves that rolled lazily towards the shore and expended themselves in flurries of froth on the sand. Right then, I couldn’t think of any place I’d rather have been.

Sightseeing, Siestas and Soirees

After breakfast, Margaret and David took us on a guided tour of the Greater Hervey Bay area. We drove to the Urangan seawall, took pictures of the Pier and then wandered back to admire and wonder at the Osprey’s nest perched precariously in the upper branches of a beachside gum tree. At Toogoom we stopped and parked, to stroll the beachfront cycle path as we yarned and laughed. Then it was on to Burrum Heads; were the Isis River empties itself into the bay. It had turned out to be one of those balmy early spring days; neither hot nor cold and with the gentlest of breezes that carried the tangy smell of saltwater and seaweed.

By mid afternoon we were back at Chez Margaret & David and there was time to kick back; get some washing done; do some reading; and take a nap. Then, in the early evening we headed downtown for a relaxed evening meal overlooking the Marina and Harbour. Although fine and pleasantly cool, ominous clouds stifled the moonlight and, in the distance sheet lightning lit up the sky.

More Rain

Early next morning I woke to the sound of steady rain; clearly there was little likelihood of getting on the road for another day. But no matter; Margaret and David were marooned by New South Wales’ Covid outbreak; and, we were more than happy to stay on with them for another day. The coffee was good and the conversation easy and affable.

Thai Diamond

Later, we headed up to Scarness with our hosts for dinner at the Thai Diamond. Earlier in the day, Mel had caught up with Lynne and Sam, and they joined us for dinner. Lynne, a former Principal of one of Mel’s schools, and her husband were in the process of caravanning their way around Australia on a multitude of roads less travelled. 

Completely at odds with his normal restaurant protocols, Mel gave scant attention to the menu; he already knew what he wanted. In truth, I don’t remember what we each ordered but I do remember the aromatic seductiveness of the dishes; the gentle but insistent assault of the spices; and the sharp counterpoint of the condiments. It was a banquet fit for royalty. You know, it’s hard to beat a quiet evening with good friends, outstanding food, and the tranquil, welcoming ambiance of a good Thai restaurant. 

More than Meets the Eye

Later, over coffee, we learned that immediately after the cessation of hostilities in the Serbian conflict, David had taken leave from his regular engineering responsibilities and had been among the first humanitarian responders to get boots on the ground in that ravaged country. During his time there, he’d supervised and managed the resources, engineering and reconstruction of well over three hundred schools. A few weeks later, Margaret ran several border gauntlets to join him in his work.

As David spoke quietly of his time in Bosnia, I slowly shook my head. We’d known Margaret and David for a little over 8 years, but had no idea about any of this. Having said that, I’d known David long enough to know that this was so typical. Understated, taciturn but professionally capable and efficient, he just had a way of quietly thinking his way through problems and then unobtrusively moving ahead to work out solutions.

As the night grew late our conversation became more sporadic and, eventually we decided to call it a night. Although light rain continued to whisper on the roof and garden shrubs, the forecast for the new day held promise of another day on the road.