Tyrepocalypse
In the list of useful things I’ve learned over the past 48 hours, these are the most important:
- When your mate Pete says ‘you need a centre stand’, remember that sometimes Pete is right.
- Don’t bother joining Rider Support Australia, or similar roadside assist schemes, because if you’re on a dirt bike they won’t come for you.
- Never underestimate the kindness of strangers.
I guess it’s Wednesday. The days are blurring together, but I replaced my front tyre in Alice Springs on Monday, so it must be Wednesday.
On Monday a local suzuki dealer replaced my diabolical D606 front tyre with a more aggressive D907. Instantly the weave that had plagued me for the previous eight days was gone. I thought ‘hallelujah — all my tyre woes are over’.
They weren’t.
Next morning I loaded the bike up with 16 litres of water, tools, camping gear, and Moon. I’d had a canvas cover made for his K9 Moto Cockpit, just to deflect the worst of the heat. So when the bike didn’t hande as perfectly as it had the night before, I chalked it up to excess weight. Lesson to the stupid — check your tyre pressure every single day, several times a day.
By mid morning it was already over 40 degrees. I pulled into a bush shop on the edge of Ti Tree, 200km north of Alice Springs, to give Moon some water before continuing to Tennant Creek. I got chatting to a local drifter. Now in his 80s, Putty works as a handyman and general problem solver in return for a bed in a donga behind the shop. Getting back on the bike, I stopped at the fuel station up the road… and it was then that I noticed my totally flat front tyre.
After only 200km on the tar since picking up the tyre, the only plausible explanation was that the tube had been pinched while being installed. I rattled back to the Bush Shop and unloaded the motorcycle. Leaving Moon with the panniers as a guard. I was sure my enduro stand would get the front wheel off the ground.
But it didn’t.
The rear wheel lifted but efforts to rock the bike back just resulted in it spinning. Old Putty emerged from the shop with a milk crate and we tried to create a centre stand.
I should acknowledge here that my mate Pete has been telling me that I need a centre stand for ages and I’ve been ignoring him…
After a 20 minutes, and a bit of a struggle, Putty and I had the bike propped up on a simple and elegant centre stand — made from a milk crate, a trolley jack, a brick with a rock balanced on top and my enduro stand. The wheel was off, but our self-congratulations didn’t last long.
A dust storm tore across the road and knocked over the motorcycle… the motorcycle without a front wheel, which lay on its side hemorrhaging petrol like a wounded unicycle.
With a lot of effort, we lifted the 160kg motorcycle back onto its “centre stand”, and I tied it to the shop railings with Rok straps either side… pretty much blocking access to the front door, but more or less secure.
By mid afternoon it was around 46 degrees. Several community cars had arrived at the shop and a mob of Warlpiri and Anmatjere people had gathered to watch our efforts. Some of the ladies told me about their sons or grandsons who were “proper bush mechanics”. Mobile phones were produced to call said bush mechanics and more cars arrived.
Once we’d secured the bike against wind storms I removed the inner tube. It had twisted inside the wheel, valve torn out, and ripped down its whole length. I sent a photo of the tube to my friend Vince and he agreed it must’ve been pinched in the shop. No possibility of mending it, so I hunted through my panniers for my second spare tube. It was too old and the rubber had perished. It leaked like a colander.
Turns out it’s a good idea to check your spare tubes before packing them…
So I had no repairable tube, and no spare. Ti Tree is a tiny settlement 200km north of Alice Springs and 300km south of Tennant Creek. It has a pub, a shop, a service station and a one man police station. Nowhere to buy a motorcycle tyre tube.
But old Putty came to the rescue, phoning his mate Barry (who owns the bush shop). Barry was in Alice Springs for the day and would return in 5 or 6 hours with a tube for me. Tools were set aside and I spent the afternoon heat chatting to locals in the scant shade of the shop awning.
Just before sunset Barry appeared, brandishing a tyre tube, to cheering from the Anmatjetre and Warlpiri. A committee of various ages and skill, took turns helping me put in the tube and seat the bead. The D907 is a very strong tyre — not easy to get on and off the rim, and it was still over 40 degrees. More and more people turned up to help.
By dark the wheel was ready and only a handful of Anmatjere remained. Torch strapped to my head like a German tourist, I remounted the wheel on the axle and pumped it up.
The tyre went flat.
Closer inspection revealed factory flaws in the tube. It was literally coming apart at the seams. At this point I was ready to set fire to the motorcycle and walk out into the desert.
Our situation was starting to look desperate. Moon and I had nowhere to camp, we were sitting beside our immobile motorcycle in a town where literally everyone knew we were stuck. So I phoned Rider Support Australia — the expensive motorcycle roadside assist scheme I’d bought into at a premium level in case I ever needed help. The person who answered explained it would cost me $500 for a tow truck to Alice Springs. I replied that I didn’t need a tow truck, just a tyre tube. “If you were in a car” she explained, “we could do that, but not on a bike”. This company called “Rider Support” could assist a driver but not a rider — still happy to take rider’s money though.
While the back-up I’d paid for was worse than useless, Barry came to the rescue, offering Moon and I the floor of the shop for the night. His three young Chinese backpacker employees provided water for Moon, and Barry even brought me a pillow and doona. Moon slept curled up next to the frozen chips. It was obvious nothing would be resolved until morning— we had no inner tubes and my brain was totally fried from heat and exertion.
At 7am the next morning, after one of the Chinese girls handed me a strange espresso with ice cubes, I was met by a serious Anmatjere man. Jupururrla was one of the “proper bush mechanics” the older ladies had mentioned. He’d been summoned to help.
Jupururrla rides a DRZ400 and had brought one of his own tubes along. He chatted to the Anmatjere morning crowd while I took the wheel off again. Then we jumped into a community car and headed to the station where he worked as a mechanic.
Between the two of us, without onlookers and contributors, we quickly had the wheel off the rim. It took a while longer to seat the bead around the rim lock. That required a lot of bouncing the tyre, and one of Jupurrurla’s colleagues lent him a hand while I tried to stop Moon chasing a bunch of camp dogs.
Then, for the first time in 36 hours, the tyre held air!
Back at the shop, I started reloading the bike — hoping to get to Alice Springs in time to replace the tyre and buy a spare tube. I’ve already lost so many days to tyres, I figured why not lose more? So I’ll head back into the desert tomorrow at first light. .. hoping for more luck.
Before leaving Ti-Tree, one of the Chinese girls called out. She’d felt powerless to help yesterday, so had spent the morning making something to lift my spirits. She presented me with two boiled two eggs carved into the shape of rabbits, with carrot eyes! And it did lift my spirits — not the egg rabbits as such, but the fact that a girl I hardly knew thought my happiness warranted carving them.
In Alice Springs, the Suzuki guy replaced the tyre and tube for free. Tonight I’m back at my friend Dira’s place. Worth mentioning that Dira had offered to borrow a bike trailer and drive a few hours to get me, but Jupurrurla and I already had a new tube in by then.
OK it’s been a pretty frustrating 48 hours. But it’s also been a lesson about the kindness of others. I ride alone, but there must’ve been 24 or more people who helped, or wanted to help, when things went pear shaped — Putty, Barry, 15–20 Warlpiri and Anmatjere ‘advisors’, Jupurrurla, the three Chinese girls (who never told me their names), my friend Vince and partner Ben (both of whom offered support), and my friend and rescuer Dira.
I’ve always said that dogs are the best people, but actually people can be pretty amazing too.
