Day 27 – Dance of the Road

The morning over Pyap was beautiful — the sunrise glowing through the mist, the silhouette of a dead tree standing proud, the river calm as glass, birds chirping softly. It felt like the whole world was holding its breath. After a wonderful day with Tony, it was time to move on.

We were on the final stretch of our trip — homeward bound! But since we were already so far north in Victoria, we thought — why not visit New South Wales too? Just to make sure they don’t feel left out. So we set our course for lunch in Buronga, NSW — a sister town to Mildura, VIC, much like Mulwala/Yarrawonga or Wodonga/Albury. We’d visited the others, but never these two. Time to fix that. About half an hour into the ride, a large semicircular frame appeared over the highway, followed by a 40 km/h sign. “What’s that?” I asked. Noune pointed — “Border quarantine.” Ah, the SA/Victoria line. But where was the “Welcome to Victoria” sign? Another 500 metres, the speed limit jumps to 110 km/h, and then we see the familiar sight: a row of speed cameras. Welcome to Victoria indeed!

It’s quite clear: in Victoria, revenue raising is far more important than actual road safety. The cameras are positioned, maintained, and justified to maximize income, not prevent accidents. You can almost feel the bureaucracy chuckling as they remind you that your compliance funds their projects. Now, I shouldn’t complain too much — most Victorian speed cameras snap from the front, meaning motorcyclists (with rear plates) are largely invisible. That’s because front shots make it easier to identify drivers — and, of course, keep the revenue flowing. Still, few things could symbolise Victoria more than a speed camera at the border.

And then, another familiar sign — roadside rubbish. Local councils in Victoria always seem preoccupied with “bigger” issues: world peace, global warming, green politics, racism, genocide… anything except doing their actual job — collecting rubbish. And no, you can’t just blame people. People are the same everywhere — but in SA and WA, the roadsides are clean. It’s a matter of management.

Rant over.

Soon, we entered Mildura — a vibrant country town built around citrus, wine, and the lifeblood of the Murray River. Wide streets, old pubs, and that unmistakable Victorian-country charm. We didn’t linger — our goal was across the river in Buronga, NSW. Crossing that bridge was a highlight — the Murray glistened below, the view stunning. Lunch at Hendy Town Café hit the spot — my hot dog with bacon and cheese was delicious, probably due to the high cholesterol density!

From there, we followed the northern bank of the Murray for a while before turning south again. It was worth it — instead of the major A79 highway, we took the quieter, winding C251, a more natural road that curved with the land. Less engineered, more soulful — perfect for riding. And yes, another speed camera greeted us right after crossing back into Victoria. Must be tradition. Or coincidence?

We refuelled in Robinvale and headed to Sea Lake, our stop for the night. That ride — that’s when the magic happened.

See, for me, motorcycling and tango share the same essence. In both, you can try to control your partner — or you can become one with them. If you force it, neither the bike nor your partner will respond kindly. But when you’re in sync — breathing, moving, hearts beating, feeling as one — you reach harmony. With a pillion, it’s like dancing tango with two partners. Luckily, Noune is both an experienced pillion and a seasoned tango dancer. Every ride becomes a dance. When I accelerate, she presses in to reduce the wind drag; when we lean into a corner, her movement matches mine perfectly. And when I started playing “A Evaristo Carriego” in my head and danced the curves of the C251, she danced with me. At one point, as the tempo picked up and I weaved through the road markings in rhythm, I heard her laughing behind me. Laughter = joy = harmony.

We arrived in Sea Lake buzzing with energy — only to discover our room had no bathroom! Shared facilities. Oh well — not as bad as Penong, and the dinner and beer were excellent.

We’re on the final stretch of an unforgettable journey. Can’t complain — not when you’re still dancing.