Three Single Men on A Lap of The Paddock by JD

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Sure are Swampy. Jeff did the hard yards, and I'm slowly putting it together for him... and posterity

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Carl visited the caretaker who took his money for campsites and told us to push (not ride) the bikes onto the lawn. Seemed a bit over the top but all was forgiven when the same caretaker sold us his only six pack of beer and left the house unlocked so we could go in and pick it up whenever we wanted! – At least that’s the story Wightman told me when he sent me into the bloke’s kitchen to grab the beer! We shared a few yarns with the circle of grey nomads at the campsite, most of whom seemed to head off to watch TV in their various vans pretty early. Apparently, the fishing wasn’t so good this year, but they were still having a good time. No one told me why it’s called Tomato Island (it’s really just a boat ramp and campsite on the Roper River) – must remember to ask Bozo.

It was surprising how heavy the dew was across the Savannah Way and by now we were accustomed to waiting until the sun was well and truly up to dry our gear before packing each day. A few of the nomads had launched their boats by the time we packed up and set out on our final day touring together as Three Single Men. The first stop was at the Roper Bar crossing – we never actually crossed that river, preferring instead to visit the old roadhouse (currently closed and for sale) before commencing our run into Mataranka.

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We had agreed I would stop at the commencement of the sealed road, where we would re-group again and re-inflate tyres to highway pressures. As it turned out I rode a couple of km along the tar and picked a shady spot to stop near the road. Carl arrived a few minutes later and we pumped up the tyres, redistributed some fuel, swatted some flies and talked as we waited for Wightman to catch up.

Some 25 minutes or more had elapsed before we started to doubt if he would come along at all. As we debated which one of us had enough fuel to go look for John, I noticed his bike roll out of a truck bay back a few hundred meters from where we stood. The DR pulled up beside us, off came the helmet and Wightman asked if we had anti histamine tablets easily at hand. Apparently one of the local bees had thought there was room for two inside John’s helmet and jumped in for the ride. The ever-reliable Mr Wightman was not about to let an insect stop progress, he downed a Polaramine tablet, swigged some water and within a few minutes was back on the bike heading west. Relaxing into a cruise along the bitumen highway the kilometres soon disappeared under our well-worn knobbies and we were making good time toward Mataranka. The plan was to camp in Katherine that night, before we parted ways with Carl and Wightman steadily riding to Kununurra from where they would visit the Bungle Bungles before taking the Gibb River Road route to Broome. I would go on ahead and increase the pace as I headed for home with more urgency as I had already exceeded my booked leave by a couple of days and still faced a six-day ride home.

All of this was on my mind as I saw a traveller’s rest gazebo and tank appear on my right. Knowing Wightman does not carry a Camelbac I thought it a good idea to stop and give him a chance to rehydrate. He had been riding reliably as always but didn’t look very fit as he sprawled out in the shade.



We waited about 20 minutes before Wightman declared himself fit to travel and we re-mounted the singles to complete the run into Mataranka. Rolling along the bitumen slower than I normally ride the dirt, with the farm bike critically low on fuel and Wightman struggling against the venum of the insect, it was with a sense of relief and achievement we rode up the Stuart Highway and into Mataranka for lunch.

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Known for its hot springs and the setting of ‘We of the Never Never’ Mataranka is NT attraction with more than its fair share of tourists around, although not as crowded at the time of our visit as it would become later in the season. I was keen to take a dip in the springs and it was there that another traveller suggested if I was in a hurry to get home, I should take the short cut from Daly Waters straight to Halls Creek. This sounded like a good idea and would take a few km off the trip distance while keeping me on dirt roads for another day.

With the departure of the farm bike rider from the group this was to be the end of our trip as the Three Single Men. Together we had crossed around 6,500 km of mainly rough dirt roads, while keeping an eye out for each other and generally dodging the many obstacles along the way.
When I had originally said I may accompany the duo Wightman said, “three is the perfect number of riders for such a trip”. I must say I agree, we had a great ride together and learned many tips from each other along the way.

The three single cylinder motorcycles from three different factories had each proved themselves vastly more capable at this type of long-distance travel than expected. Travelling light is the way to go and the reward is a much lower stress level every time the going gets a bit tough.

So, with the final group photo taken by the backpacker at Bitter Springs, we shook hands, bade each other farewell and I once again headed down a high-speed limit Northern Territory Highway on a motorcycle not really suited to high speed road travel and wasted one more opportunity to legally travel at 130 km/h.