I woke up early and feeling refreshed prepared to leave early thinking I will dare it back to Melbourne in one day as per the decision the previous night. Saddling up I noticed a beautiful cool morning washed clean by a rain shower the previous night. 

Still curious about North Queensland, I decided to instead of turning around immediately and heading south back to Melbourne the way I came, to rather continue the route north to where it meets the coast at Rockhampton and then to turn south back to Melbourne along the coastal route i .e. a different return route, obviously no pre-booked accommodation anywhere.

I left Miles just before six in the morning en-route to Rockhampton. It was rainy weather with frequent drops of rain, still hot but pleasant for motorcycling. Water was standing on the road through the forest and much water in the forest next to the road from rain of last night. 

Being Christmas day there was almost no other traffic on the road. Many small type roos were visible along and next to the road but they all were streetwise and disappeared without causing a problem. The road winds through not too dense forest with plenty of trees looking just like the Fever trees from North KZN in the old country. The Dawson River meander near the route and the road crosses it many times. The beautiful early morning and winding forest road caused me soon to find the old rhythm again and I enjoyed every kilometer, relaxed and well rested.

At one of the river crossings the sign said Dawson River Anabranch - could it be that the river name givers eventually got mixed up with all the Dawson River crossings and then in desperation finding yet another one just named it 'Dawson River - Another branch'? . I took a rehydration break and stopped next to the bridge on the Miles side. There were unusual abundant bird sounds in the forest around. After marveling at the bird live for a while, I continued towards Rockhampton and eventually the road exited the forest where it reached an escarp from where it dropped steeply down to the coastal plain past Mount Morgan just above Rockhampton.

Having more or less reached the point where I was planning to turn south again I decided to have a good break and learn something from the area and the community which would have been the furthest northerly point of the ride and in the process also work out where to head to next. 

Much later after the ride back in Melbourne, an Aussie colleague who grew up on the central coast of NSW would want me to believe that central Queensland was actually authentic Aussie Redneck Country. In contrast at the time I was about to experience there and over the days to follow, very friendly, down to earth, sociable real people, who when complimented on their friendliness, acknowledged that they knew all about the cheer of people from down south with the stiff upper-lips .

So a couple of kilometers before Rockhampton, still out in the country, 440km into the day's ride, late morning, I hauled into a small road side servo to refuel and have a bite to eat, deliberately sitting down at the only table where everyone entering the servo had to pass. The local rural area was waking up on Boxing Day and lots of locals arrived to stock-up for the afternoon Boxing Day festivities, sometimes several people at once queuing up to the counter to be served by the Indian fella. Several people of various ages would stop by my table while in the queue for a chat. 

 A man - his name shall be Dylon, discovered my origin. He knew South Africans from when he was working on the mines. He used to have two South African bosses, they were from Zimbabwe he said, but he somehow just could not get on with them. I was curious as to why not. It turned out that with him being a true blue Aussie, their typical African names were real tongue twisters so he decided to give them more familiar English nick names - he himself had a nickname and saw nothing wrong with it . Dylon said they would have none of that!. I had an idea and explained to them that in the African tradition, a name given to a person by his father at birth, always has a specific meaning of which the individual will naturally be proud of. Calling an traditional African by another name could mean changing his name from e.g. something like "wisdom" to something totally insignificant to him. 

 Dylon admitted that it was a pity that he did not know about this at the time but then said there was more. He would often address the boss in the true blue Aussie way as "mate". The boss would freak and really have none of that!. Dylon could not understand. The boss said the word "mate" sounded to him like the word for an african woman of ill repute, Dylon said the boss said "african bitch". The penny dropped and I explained to him that I know that the word "maid" meaning female servant was "meid" in Afrikaans, pronounced exactly like Aussie 'mate'. In Afrikaans the word 'meid' somehow became synonymous with a person that lacked courage . I was not aware of the additional meaning that the boss attached to 'meid' but probably only people from South Africa can really appreciate what happened there.

While I was filling the bike at the pump, a wiry elderly Queensland lady in a UTE enquired as to where I was heading. I lamented to her my original intention to reach Cape York Peninsula but that because of the cyclone up there, would have to change the plan. As she got back into her car she waved her arm and said: "Ag man, just go for it!". I said "What?!" She said: "Well the news announced that the cyclone restrictions are lifted. They expect it to impact Cape York only later if at all". 

So new decisions were made instantaneously and the original plan was suddenly back on the table. Nearby another middle age mate was loading bags of ice and firewood into the boot of his car. Ready to ride off without checking for the quickest way to get through Rockhampton metropole, the easy solution was to enquired from a local . He had sunnies on. Without stop loading his car, he responded  "To Airlie beach...just follow this road down towards Rockhampton, carry on straight and follow the signs through the city then onto the A1 highway up the coast heading north". As if in afterthought he then stopped what he was doing, turned and looked at me and in a serious tone said "Six hours mate... ?!". I said "I know". He shook his head and got into his car and drove off without looking back.

Maybe it was because I was impatient to get to far north tropical Queensland but the road seemed to wind forever through urban Rockhampton going north, suburb upon suburb. Then finally out of the urban areas the A1 north from Rockhampton moves inland away from the coast.

Disappointingly to me very un-tropical and more or less featureless country side immediately north from Rockhampton perhaps because I expected a scenic route along the coast line. It was end of December and high summer in Queensland with the ambient temperature and humidity seriously pumping the dehydration. The rehydration stops every hour, soon made it clear that 1000km in a day in these conditions was going to be hard work as well as time consuming. I carried 9 liters of water and plenty of Gatorade powder and over the days occasionally almost ran out of water. In order to avoid dehydration, I found it necessary to continually drink no less than one, but often two liters of water every hour and a liter of Gatorade every third hour or else.... I got to know Gatorade as the nearest thing next to magic potion.

 Suddenly and unexpectedly, at Clairview the Coral Sea appeared through the trees on the right, the road right on the coastline with the most spectacular views of the Coral Sea. The original schedule included for an overnight stop near Airlie beach but I was still undecided as to where to to call it a day and intended simply to keep riding until around sunset before looking for a place to stay. Sunset found me at Proserpine but I decided to check out nearby famous Airlie Beach which is 25km off the main route. Airlie Beach was impressive with many holiday makers and a cosy holiday atmosphere but with no pre-booking a dirty sweaty motorcyclist rocking up at any holiday accommodation that late in the day would not have been the most popular sight. Sensitive with the budget trying one or two places with no success, I returned to Proserpine to find a room at a Motor Inn which was obviously more used to people just travelling through. Dinner was available as was a small pool to cool down, shared with several other residents, before going to bed. A hot, humid, including occasional rain showers, sweaty 940km for the day.