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IN SEARCH OF THE OLD
continued from page 33 art. During her brief annual visits to Princetown, she paid bills, collected supplies, winterized her farm and made plans to retu rn to the far reaches of the Northern Territory. I n twenty-four hours Iris wou ld depart to new research sites she discovered earli er in the yea r and would not return ' aga in for eleven months. I was lucky'to have caught her. I explained my pred icament. "You're on track ," she assured me, her long blonde hair f luttering in the sl ight breeze. "The piece of the old road you're looking for starts just below my property line." My faith in the oldtimers was restored. "How is the surface7" I asked. "You'll have some fun, mate," she smiled, looking at my mountain bike. Iris wheeled a four-runner out
from her barn and started the stri pped- down machine, reduced to nothing but frame, engine, t ires and tattered seat, with one kick. There was easier access that did not entail returning to the highway, and she was eager to show me.
We rode south over gently
rolling hills through a sea of handlebar- high crimson bottlebrush. The ground soon flattened and opened to expose a naked expanse. A dry and cracked clay- bottom creek bed, f lanked by banksia trees and their brilliant orange flowers, led us to a field of boulders that we navigated with li tt le diffi culty. On the other side, Iris steered east up and over a crumbled portion of the creek bank, turned south and rode parallel to a barbed wire fence. I followed. We passed a dilapidated
farmhouse and an old rusting tractor. A hundred feet further the fence ended. Iris slowed the four-runner and waved me next to her. She cut the engi ne and we coasted to the edge of a deep crevasse, created cou ntless years ago by a long dried-up ri ver. Iris parked the four-runner
and walked me a short distance to the on ly crossing point. Bound together end-to-end, three long pieces of ocean- sa lvaged teakwood spanned the fifteen-
foot gap. The strength, or depending on your opinion, weakness of the makeshift bridge with no handrai ls was in a braided steel cable. As thick as my wrist, the cable coi led the length of the teakwood like an anaconda around lunch. Imbedded in the flesh of the wood, the cable was not a hazard . The topmost su rface was smooth and, although uniform , no wider than my outstretched hand. Dismantling and throwing my
bike piece-by-piece across the crevasse was not out of the question, nor was claiming a fear of heights and retreating shamelessly to the paved road. The crevasse was deep. The only way across it was to ride. Iris provided no comfort. "About 30 feet stra ight down," she guessed aloud, wiping her brow of sweat. "Maybe more." " Looks to me li ke 50." Walking over the gap and
back, I was surprised to find the precariously sagging bridge sturdy; with the added weight of my well-equipped bike it would have to go untested. Iris refused to joi n me on a second test -wal k. "Quit wasting time and give it a burl," she insisted. Thirty feet from the edge of
the crevasse I straddled my mountain bike and inhaled deeply, The smell of the ocean in the southeasterly wind was strong. Gaining speed, I peda led past Iris and toward the teakwood wrapped in steel. I crouched to lift my front wheel but, instead , sq ueezed both brake levers for all I was worth and slid in a cloud of dust to a grinding stop. Pebbles and clumps of dry hard dirt shot out from under my tires and fl oated into t he pred icament before me. I exha led and looked long to my left and then to my right, as if watching for oncoming traffic. The more immediate thought
on my mind: If I fell to a certain death, how long would pass before my body was recovered from the bottom of the crevasse and my mother notified 7 "Has anybody ever been dim-witted enough to try thi s?" I asked, returning to my ten-meter mark. "On a mountain bike?"
contemplated. "You wou ld be the first. "
Trusting my riding instincts, I
pedaled stead ily a second time past I ris. My eyes wide open so as not to m iss the show, I hopped onto the teakwood and held my l in e. Three heartbeats later, I rolled safely onto terra firma on the other side. I circled wide in closely cropped stiff brown grass and, soft ly applying the brakes, stopped directly in front of the conquered crevasse. Iris stood on the far edge. "Good on 'ya, mate," she cheered. "Good on 'ya, indeed." "Where to from here?" I
laughed euphori call y. Iris etched on a rock and threw across the crevasse a phone number of a Northern Territory police outpost where I cou ld locate her at her research sites. I thanked her for the gu ided shortcut and expressed that if ever I found myself in the Top End I would do my best to call. She reiterated concise directions to the old road, wished me luck and jumped on the four-runner and sped off. I waited for the high-pitched
whi ne of the engine to fade before I resumed my search. The distinctive cry of a magpie ru dely broke into the silence. A pair of these ubiquitous black-and-white birds ci rcled high above a river red gum, swooped and landed among the tree's outstretched limbs. The air at last quiet, I stepped into my toe clips and pedaled due south. The first noted landmark
This coupon will be redeemed lor Ihe lace value plus 8¢ handling when received at Golden Valley Microwave Foods, P.O. Box 880126, EI Paso, TX 88588-0126, provided terms 01 this offer have been complied with by the retailer and the consumer. Any sales tax must be paid by the consumer. Cash value 1/20¢. Offer limited to one coupon per purchase 01 product(s) indicated. Unauthorized reproduction prohibited. © 2002.
620032 L ____________________ _ 5 64144 03135 6 0 62003
appeared on cue. A meadow ablaze with ye llow flowering Cootamundra watt le stamped t he otherwise color less landscape. I rode downhill to the west end of the fragran t fl oral surprise and located a rock-strewn singletrack. L