I have recently returned from a 5 week overseas holiday with the family. We went home to India and spent a week in Malaysia en route. “Home, Harry?” I hear you ask. Well, I still call Australia home of course. But I do have a non-girt-by-sea home too and I suspect a trip to India will always be “going home” for me. It is the migrant’s enigma. Australia appeals to me with its obvious attractions of natural & wild beauty, laid back lifestyle and the rule of law.
While India tugs at my heart, with reasons that are much less obvious and harder to explain.
While India tugs at my heart, with reasons that are much less obvious and harder to explain.
It’s always made sense for me to have an Australian passport but for many years I wasn’t ready to witness the tearing up of my Indian passport. So I clutched it tightly to my chest, refusing to sever that symbolic connection. After a decade of residence (and going through painful visa application processes for a few countries while my wife, with her Australian passport, just rocked up at the airport!), I finally reconciled myself to doing the deed and took the oath of allegiance to Australia (not the Queen mind you, the monarchy can go get fucked). And I’m proud of it too.
To motorcycles then....I didn’t ride a motorcycle for 5 weeks while on holiday. Not so much as touch one actually. I didn’t think it was possible but I did all right. Seeing bikes all around me in India certainly made me want to jump on one and sample the chaotic Delhi traffic from behind handle-bars. That’s a whole different story in itself, riding a motorcycle through Delhi traffic. I hope to write about it someday. The day I feel I can do the subject some justice. But there are so many aspects to that story that it boggles my mind every time I try to write about it and I fail spectacularly in harnessing the thoughts flying around in my head like supernova debris.
Over the past few years a lot of my riding has been very fast and exciting but mostly to familiar places, with familiar people, on familiar roads. Don’t get me wrong, it’s been bloody fantastic and I wouldn’t change a thing but I've had the sense for a while, that something’s missing. On holiday, while I had the time and inclination to stare into space and think about stuff, I looked up the word “adventure” in the dictionary. “a bold, usually risky undertaking; hazardous action of uncertain outcome” it said. I scratched my head. This defined pretty much all my riding over the past few years but a lot of it didn’t feel particularly adventurous. Bold? Sure. Risky? Sure. Hazardous? Sure. With the time, space and catalysts for introspection that India invariably provides me, I realized that the missing ingredient in my riding adventures was the “uncertain outcome” bit. And suddenly it clicked. I needed to return to my roots. Exploration! Motorcycling for me had always been about exploration and discovery of the physical, psychological and spiritual aspects of myself and the world around me. It was time to put the adventure back into my riding and “uncertainty” back into my rides!
On my return, I couldn’t wait to get on my bikes and start exploring afresh, the wide open spaces of this wonderful, girt-by-sea home of mine.
On my return, I couldn’t wait to get on my bikes and start exploring afresh, the wide open spaces of this wonderful, girt-by-sea home of mine.
My Husqvarna TE610 is a true adventure bike. It can go anywhere in the right hands. My hands are not the right ones but I’m learning everytime I get out in the bush. The first trip back on the husky was definitely “adventure riding” though unexpectedly it was heavy on the adventure and light on the riding!
I headed south out of Sydney with no particular plan, vaguely hoping to meander down to MacPass at some point. After a pleasant, unhurried run through the nasho, I stopped for a quick look at Kellys falls in the Garrawarra State Conservation Area near Helensburgh. I didn’t know it then but that was pretty much the end of the day’s riding for me but the adventure was just beginning! A short walking path took me to the top of Kellys falls, which was a trickle of water dribbling off a sheer cliff about 50M high.
At the bottom of the falls lay a beautiful pool that looked incredibly inviting for a dip. Intrigued, I started looking for ways to get down to the pool but there was no walking path heading down the cliffs. So close to Sydney, it was impossible that some hillbilly hadn’t invented a path down to such a beautiful swimming hole. So undeterred, I started bush bashing my way through the wilderness, hoping to find a way to get down the cliffs. I didn’t find a path but what I found only egged me on further. I stumbled onto another beautiful waterfall. This one was so well hidden that I doubt many people would even know about it. Crawling on all fours and peering over the ledge of the falls, I discovered another beautiful pool at the base of this waterfall too!
Now I was determined to find a way down and explore the pools.
I felt like Livingstone hacking through Africa as I cut and forced my way through thick bush, shimmying down rock ledges and climbing down trees to try and reach the canyon floor. Eventually, after about half an hour of sweaty and abrasive work, I spied the second (secret) waterfall through the rainforest.
I felt like Livingstone hacking through Africa as I cut and forced my way through thick bush, shimmying down rock ledges and climbing down trees to try and reach the canyon floor. Eventually, after about half an hour of sweaty and abrasive work, I spied the second (secret) waterfall through the rainforest.
It was wild and pristine. There was nothing to indicate that any human had ever been here before (I’m sure plenty had but it was good to see they hadn’t left behind petty reminders of their visit).
I wasted no time in tearing off my sweaty clothes and plunging into the cool waters of the pool. The water from the skies fell around me in a gentle, misty shower, carried by the wind while the sun made random flying rainbows. It was sheer magic, that spot, that moment. In that instant, as I closed my eyes and submerged myself under the waterfall, I felt validated in not chasing the same twisty roads and corners today like I had done a thousand times before, heading south out of Sydney. I didn’t care if I went up MacPass today or not. I’d discovered something truly special and it was moments of pure “being” like this that I’d been missing in my increasingly planned and structured life.
After a rejuvenating couple of hours at the pool, I explored the rainforest some more and found the pool at the bottom of Kelly’s falls.
This was again a most enchanting spot, though a little less “secret”, as humans had clearly walked here before!
Now I set my mind to finding a way out of here, back to the top of the cliffs. I was sure that everyone who’d been here before wouldn’t have hacked their way through the jungle like me. There must be a shortcut somewhere. A chink in the armour of the fortress. I walked up to the base of the cliffs and started making my way around. I saw some small clearings at the base of some of the cliffs. This could only mean 1 thing. Rock Climbers! Having been an active rock climber for many years, I know how rock climbers operate. They will clear out the shrubbery at the base of cliffs to be able to get holds on the rocks to get off the ground. This was encouraging! Sure enough, after a little probing, I found a steep “path” hidden in the folds of the cliffs. It was exposed and a bit airy but with a little rock scrambling, I was at the top in a few minutes.
I took my boots off and discovered a couple of engorged leeches wiggling inside. They'd obviously been enjoying the taste of my spicy Indian blood!
I sat at the top of the cliffs with my feet dangling over the abyss and reflected on the definition of adventure again – “a bold, usually risky undertaking; hazardous action of uncertain outcome”. The day hadn't turned out at all like I'd expected. Hmmm, I reckon I might've had an adventure today!
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