It’s Cooking in Cooktown…!!

I rode out of the “City in a Garden” that is Cairns, and headed north along the coast to Port Douglas…

The road to Port Douglas runs close to the ocean, and was filled with bikers giving it their all...!!

A short distance from Redlynch, the mountains marched down towards the sea and squeezed the main highway onto a narrow strip of rain forest between the rocky shore and the lower slopes of the range…

This section of about 30 km was a bikers haven, and super-bikes tore down it at breakneck speeds… I hung around in the middle of a big group, before the pack behind me zoomed past me on one of the few straight portions of road… We played tag all the way to the outskirts of Port Douglas, and at time it felt like I was riding the wheels off the Big Fella…

We skipped through the corners and tight bends, and when we hit a straight, the front wheel would rear up on me as I yanked the throttle back onto it’s stop… Exhilarating stuff…!! I took the turn off to Port Douglas and received many a “thumbs up” from the bikers as they cruised up alongside me and bid me farewell…

I had been told that Port Douglas was a “Gem of a Town”, and the little I saw of it proved to be exactly that… It reminded me of some places on our own Hibiscus Coast, down Scottborough way… The beaches were nestled between rocky outcrops, people were unpacking picnic baskets in the parking areas under the trees, and kids were riding their bikes along the footpaths that ran the length of the coastal drive leading into the shopping areas of the town… It looked and felt as though everything was in holiday mode…

Up at the view-point near Mt Carbine, I met Peter Evans on his Honda CB900...

I did not hang around too long, because the heat was already making me uncomfortable, despite it being only 9.00am !!

I rode on to Mossman, a little town further north, refueled and then turned south to ride through the mountains up to Mt. Malloy…

This twisting section of road was another which I enjoyed immensely…!! There was very little traffic on it, and I roared up the valley and up to the northern end of the Atherton Tablelands…

Just outside Mt Carbine, after a series of twists and turns, the road opened out onto a wide lookout point, and parked there was a red bike, with its owner standing nearby…

I pulled up and stopped, noticing as I kicked the stand out, that somebody had spray painted “Live Life” on the tarmac exactly where I had stopped… I glanced down at the phrase and smiled to myself… I was certainly giving the phrase my best shot…!!

We made our introductions, and I discovered that Peter Evans was also on his way to Cooktown, where he currently lived, but worked in Cairns…

“I’ll ride with you to Cooktown if that’s OK with you…” he said, “I know this road like the back of my hand…!!”

We took off soon after, with Peter riding for a few hundred metres on his back wheel…!!

“Here we go…!!” I thought to myself, “This could get interesting…!!”

Peter takes off as we begin the ride towards Lakelands... Clearly he did not see the sign posted here... Notice that he is on the wrong side of the road, going around a rather sharp corner...!!

Peter Evans, with whom I rode to Cooktown... This guy can ride a bike...!! Some of the speeds he took corners at scared the daylights out of me...!!

This pickup parked right next to my bike, and the load of bees that swarmed about had me heading for cover...!!

The inland road to Cooktown takes a wide loop to the west of the Daintree Forest Reserve, running northwest, then north, and finally northeast to the historical harbour town that was my final destination in the far north of Queensland…

Over the next 80 km, we hammered the bikes through the long looping turns and down the wide straights, slowing down for cattle and wild horses in places…

We passed half a dozen cattle carcasses, victims of the big trucks that ride this route to deliver supplies to the northern towns and settlements…

We stopped at Lakeland, where Peter refueled while I bought something to drink… We sat outside chatting about our biking experiences, and Peter gave me plenty of advice on what to see and do in Cooktown… He had worked in the more remote areas of the outback, in Aboriginal settlements as far flung as you can imagine…

He was currently employed to work with troubled teenage children, part of the Australian Mental Health program, and by his quiet and determined manner, I could see how he could be a role model for children from backgrounds that gave them little or no chance to improve themselves…

The more Peter spoke, the more my respect for this unassuming man grew… I would have liked to take a long ride with him, as I believe we would have made good traveling buddies…

Peter Evans explains the significance of the Black Mountains to me...

One of the two granite mountains that rear up next to the road to Cooktown...

“This next section we will have to take slower, Mate…!! There are a lot of Wallabies on the road, and you don’t wanna hit one of those…!! It’s like a fur bomb exploding…very messy…!!”

I wasn’t sure if he was referring to the Wallaby or the state of the biker when he said “very messy”, but resolved to follow him at whatever speed he deemed suitable for the final run into Cooktown, about 100 km away…

We crossed the two wide tributaries of the Normanby River, on wide curving bridges, slowing down to take in the views on either side of us, then speeding up again, until Peter indicated he was stopping, and pulled over into a lay-by between two mountains… We were on the edges of the Black Mountains National Park, named after the two enormous mounds of crumbling black rock that we had parked between…

These mountains were sacred to the Aboriginal people of the area, and when I asked if they held any special ceremonies up on top of them, he laughed and said,

“Hell no, Mate…!! They are shit-scared to go up on them…!! They believe that evil spirits inhabit these mountains…!!”

I stood looking at the massive jumble of black boulders that was actually the tips of two enormous lava cones that had been pushed to the surface in ancient times. The effects of soil erosion had exposed the crumbling tips of these granite mountains, which had cracked into millions of the fragments you see there today…

Getting to Cooktown had been a whole lot of fun, thanks to Peter Evans...!!

We clambered down into a boulder strew creek to get a better look at the mountain on the eastern side of the road, while Peter explained how it had formed, and the wildlife that was to be found there…

“There are plants and animals that are found nowhere else in Australia, up on those slopes…!!”

Had I not been sweating bullets in my full riding gear, I might well have considered hiking further up the creek to the base of the mountains to look around…

I have subsequently discovered that these jumbled rocks are the haunt of some very big pythons, that commonly grow to up to five metres in length, and feed on the Rock Wallabies that are found there…

Would have loved to pass some time with a spot of python wrestling… All good fun if you can stay away from the sharp end…!!

We arrived in Cooktown much later than I had planned, but the delays had been well worth it, and I had enjoyed Peter’s company…

Even though he lived a few kilometres before the town centre, he still took the trouble to show me where the backpackers joint was, the Cooktown Museum, and the Seaview Hotel, which I eventually checked into after finding the “Full House” sign up at the backpackers…

“If you have some time tomorrow, come and see us…!!” Peter said with a wave, as he roared back down the road and headed for home…

Sadly, I did not find the time to meet up with him again… Thanks for the ride and all the info, Peter…!! Good luck with your new home in Cairns…!!

Considering how remote a place Cooktown is, I was surprised by the cost of a room at the Seaview Hotel, although I must say that here in Australia, you can do a lot worse for an even higher price…

The Seaview Hotel in Cooktown, one of the more popular hotels in this sleepy little town...

I reluctantly decided to forego my plans for a dip in the Endevour River... The water was too cold...

The Seaview is ideally located on the far end of Adelaide street and directly opposite the exact spot where Captain Cook beached his ship the “Endevour”, in June 1770… It took a few sporadic skirmishes with the local Aboriginals to establish the pecking order, before he and his men set about repairing the ship which had run aground on a reef nearby…

The humidity on the afternoon I arrived here, was almost overpowering… The guy working the front desk said it was “up around 95 % at a guess, Mate…” when I asked him how hot and humid he thought it was… Sweat ran down my forehead and into my eyes as I filled in the registration card…

“Do you have a swimming pool…??” I asked, “Or is there a beach around here to take a swim at…??” I went on innocently…

He stopped shuffling some papers he was busy with, looked slowly up at me with raised eyebrows and said,

“You can’t swim anywhere around these parts, Mate…!! Crocs’ll get you for sure…!! A crabby went missing not so long ago, and all they found were the drag marks on the bank, close to where his traps were set up…!!”

Room No: 5 has a marvellous view out over the Endevour River, and after a ten minute cold shower, and feeling human again, I stood out on the wide patio and watched the sun sink into the clouds that were building up…

I watched the sun set over the river, then took a stroll along the waterfront....but not too close to the water...!!

Despite its small size, Cooktown has a long and very interesting history, going back almost 250 years… I walked along the shore-front, reading the many plaques either attached to the statues that line the river banks, or cemented into the sidewalks that run the length of the road from down at the Gunpowder Magazine built in 1874, right through to the local Cemetery and Chinese Shrine, more than a kilometre away…

I stood watching young kids jigging for fish off the raised jetty on the edge of town, their parents keeping a close watch on them and the muddy waters they were fishing in… Although judging by the number of empty beer cans finding their way into the dustbins, I don’t think any of the parents would have been in any state to assist, if some lifesaving became necessary…!!

Home style cooking at the Retired Serviceman's League pub...

It was dark by the time I strode down Charlotte Street, and turned back into Adelaide to find a place to eat… The local bowls club was too busy for my liking, so I opted for the Retired Serviceman’s League pub, where I ordered the “full house” with a beer…!!

I watched as the “chef” piled a huge chunk of lasagna on a large plate, followed by heaps of veggies and topped off with half a dozen mussels in tomato sause…

“Get that down yer hole, Mate…!!” he said with a grin as he handed me the plate… “It’s all good…!!”

I sat down on one of the long tables out back, the only diner there… Bored by the lack of custom, the “chef” finally came over to join me and we chatted about the goings on in Cooktown for the next twenty minutes…

The RSL club in Cooktown... All a weary traveler needs, including interesting conversations...!!

“It’s all old folks and dodgy types out here…!!” he told me… “You know, people that don’t fit in anywhere else…!!”

“I can see why people who wanted to get away from it all would retire up here, or try to eke a living out of the sea, but isn’t calling them “dodgy” being a bit harsh…??” I asked with a sly smile…

I had seen a number of folk who were on the far side of “dodgy” in my book, but decided I would not agree with him least one or more of them was listening from the shadows…!!

“Nah, Mate….!! There are dodgy types out here all right, and they’re proud of it…!! Some keep to the’selves like, but others will get in your face just as soon as look at ya…!!” He laughed loudly at this last statement before standing up, shaking my hand, and wandering back to the kitchen…

I walked back down the road to my hotel, stealing a glance over my shoulder as I went… A grizzled old guy passed me, talking earnestly to his mate, snatches of conversation floated back to me as they passed..

“…so I go out to see what all the noise is about, and what’s-her-name is standing there with her knickers round her ankles, screaming blue murder, and Charles is legging it up the road pulling his pants up as he went…!! Awful sight, it was, let me tell ya…!!”

I stopped dead in my tracks and turned to look back at the two old codgers, to make sure I wasn’t dreaming… Judging by the earnestness of their demeanour, I knew that I had heard correctly…!! I wondered what what’s-her-name had been shouting about, and if “Charles” had made it to safety or not…!!

I chuckled all the way back to my room, picturing the scene in my head, and thinking about all the “happenings” in small towns, that kept the local purveyors of gossip busy…

It takes all kinds of people, in all kinds of places to make the world the weird and wonderful place it is…

©GBWT 2011