Day 3 – Tailem Bend to Port Augusta
The morning started with some ominous news. news.com.au was screaming about a huge storm sweeping from Western Australia across to the eastern states. Not exactly the kind of headline a motorcyclist wants to see before hitting the road. A quick dive into Weatherzone revealed a strange twist: the storm was moving westward, while we were moving east to west. Translation? The storm and us had a date in Port Augusta. Stormy night ahead, but by morning it should have cleared eastward into Victoria, leaving our path open toward WA. For once, luck seemed to be on our side.
To play it safe, we decided to leave early and have breakfast at our first stop: Gumeracha, home of the famous Big Rocking Horse. The road there was already challenging — the storm hadn’t arrived yet, but the pre-storm gale-force winds had. In a car, strong winds are just noise. On a bike, they’re potentially deadly. By the time we rolled into Gumeracha, I was ready to be rocked myself. And yes, the horse is definitely big, but it doesn’t rock! Marketing scam, if you ask me.
Breakfast was quick, then we pushed on to Port Wakefield for petrol and rehydration. This stretch was where things got really interesting. We rode into 50 km/h winds with gusts up to 80 km/h — the bike being tossed around like a toy on Mount Pleasant. At one point the crosswind from the right had me leaning about 30 degrees just to stay upright, when suddenly a sharp right turn appeared. Two options: slow down, or lean further than I’ve ever leaned before. Slowing down wasn’t an option in my head, so I leaned. Let’s just say my adrenaline had its own workout.
We made it to Port Wakefield in one piece, but our fuel-and-drink stop turned into a longer break than expected. After all, survival deserves a pause.
Next on the list: Crystal Brook, to grab a selfie with the Big Goanna. By then the sky was growing darker by the minute. We needed lunch too, but the Monday curse struck — everything was closed, even the pub! Luckily, the local bakery saved the day with a very decent chicken pie. We checked the weather radar while chewing, and it confirmed what we already knew: every minute mattered if we wanted to beat the storm to Port Augusta. So lunch was a record-setting 15 minutes, and off we went.
The final leg turned out to be mercifully calmer. The wind subsided (the eerie calm before the storm), and we reached Port Augusta just ahead of the rain. Our hotel turned out to be one of those fully automated places: no staff, just PIN codes to enter the carpark, the hotel, and the room. I usually prefer a friendly receptionist, but after nearly five hours in the saddle, my bum was too sore to complain.
A quick rest later, we wandered to the local pub for a well-earned drink and dinner. That’s when I discovered one of South Australia’s more curious laws: bartenders aren’t allowed to serve doubles. No worries — I just ordered two single scotches and combined them myself. Problem solved.
This was the biggest day so far. Wind, nerves, timing, and stubborn determination all came together to give us our first real taste of challenge on this trip. But that’s exactly what I signed up for. When my Spanish teacher asked me the day before we left what I was most looking forward to on this journey, I answered without hesitation: “A challenge.” I don’t want an easy ride. I want problems to face, and the satisfaction of solving them.
Today was the first true challenge. And I hope it won’t be the last.
