Tour de Kook: An Australian Surfpacking Adventure

Words and photos by Ruby Woodruff (@rubywood)

Some bikepacking trips require months of careful planning and organisation. They involve scouring the internet to find the best routes, buying and preparing equipment, and convincing one or two of your most fearless friends to come along for the ride. Finally, when all the waiting and anticipation becomes almost too much to handle, you’re ready to leave the nest and let your wild idea fly free. This was not one of those trips.

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The catalyst that sent us bumping and bouncing down Australia’s East Coast with all our belongings – including surfboards – in tow, was when our van, Smoko, literally went up in smoke, taking our hopes and dreams with it. But like the phoenix, we rose from the ashes. In our case, limped from the ashes would be a more accurate statement. We got back on the saddle and pedalled our way back to a stable life – and by stable I mean we looked after some horses on a guy’s property in exchange for food and accommodation.

The events that led up to our “tour de kook” were as challenging, emotional, difficult, and unbelievable as the ride itself, but I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t one of the best adventures of my life.

BROKE AND BROKEN

We had big dreams when we landed in Australia in 2018. We’d spend our days on the beaches surfing and then stack cash in the evenings at our casual, minimum wage jobs. Unfortunately, things didn’t go as smoothly as we’d planned. Our insufficient funds were soon depleted, and we weren’t able to find any decent work, so we’d resorted to taking on odd jobs – everything from picking tomatoes to picking up dog shit.

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After living off of our bikes for five months, we finally managed to save up enough money to buy a van, which doubled as our home/storage unit. We’d also graduated to blueberry picking ($4 a bucket) and found work close to the coast so we could surf before and after our shift. I wouldn’t say we were thriving, but we had the basics and a small income, so it felt like everything was finally coming together.

As it goes with life, when you’re starting to get comfortable and feel like you might be able to stand on your own two feet for a while, the rug gets ripped from underneath you and you’re back on your ass again.

I still remember the toxic smell of burning oil that engulfed us as we rolled to the side of the road in a black cloud of Smoko. All the emergency bells and whistles that our 1994 Toyota Hiace had were blaring simultaneously, we’d lost power from the engine, and I was sure the whole thing was about to blow. I jumped out of the front seat, flung open the sliding side door, and began throwing all of our belongings out of the van in an attempt to save them from what I was sure was an impending explosion. In full panic mode, I ran into a nearby gas station pleading for a fire extinguisher.

The van didn’t blow up, but the damage was done. All that remained of our Australian life was strewn across the sidewalk, and when the tow truck arrived to take Smoko away, it felt like everything we’d worked towards was being taken away as well.

The following week was a blur, mostly because my eyes were so full of tears that I couldn’t see clearly. Our van was a write off – the engine was cooked – and we were now homeless, jobless, and clueless as to what to do next.

We moved to a cheap campground at the rugby field in Coffs Harbour, just below a crematorium. Some days, it was hard to tell if the smell of smoke was coming from there or from our belongings. It poured incessantly during our stay, and I was sure that if I wasn’t going to drown in my sorrows, I’d drown in my sleep from the flooded ground that our tent was slowly sinking into. As much as we tried, it was hard to be optimistic during those first dark rainy days.

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SHE’LL BE RIGHT

Once I’d finished wallowing in self-pity, it was time to make a plan. Call me kooky, but I felt like our van blowing up was a sign that we needed a change of pace. We took it as one, at least, and instead of trying to rebuild and re-live what we had, we decided to adapt to our new circumstances and try something different. An online ad led us to a guy who needed help on his property in Sydney, over 500 kilometres away. With nothing else to lose, we reached out and told him our sob story. He agreed to let us come and stay with him. All we had to do was get there.

Although we no longer had a van, we did have our bikes, surfboards, skateboards, and everything else we’d acquired over the past six months. After some deliberation, we came up with the most logical solution to our predicament: build a surfboard trailer and rack for our bikes and tow everything we owned to live on some stranger’s farm.

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Running the campsite was an angel named Vern, our number-one supporter from the beginning. Although neither of us had ever built anything in our lives – let alone used a power tool – we worked away at making a surfboard trailer out of scrap wood, old bike wheels, and bamboo, as well as a surfboard rack out of PVC piping.

Vern let us use all of his tools and didn’t mind us helping ourselves to any materials we found lying around. He quietly watched as we sawed, tested, put together, took apart, built, and rebuilt. Vern was a well of positivity, never doubting our plans, never criticising or telling us how we should be doing whatever we were doing. His comfortable silence was only broken by his signature words of encouragement, “She’ll be ‘right.”

ON THE ROAD AGAIN

Finally, after about a week of building and planning and sorting out what would be coming with us on our bikes and what would be left behind, we set off for the big city. Vern watched proudly as we left the campground, waving goodbye as we nervously pedalled off into the unknown. We only made it about 50 metres before one of the wheels of the surfboard trailer jammed, stopping us dead.

Our resilience was at an all-time high, and we walked our bikes back to the campground, disappointed but not defeated. After an hour of troubleshooting and making some last-minute adjustments, we got the wheels spinning and were on our way again. This time, we were gone for good.

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It felt like we’d seen a lot of the East Coast of New South Wales while we were driving around in Smoko, but being back on the bikes gave us a new perspective on familiar routes. It also introduced us to many we didn’t even know existed. The highway was no place for two kooks and their surfboard rack and trailer, so we kept to the dirt roads, which would often turn to sand or dust or sometimes disappear altogether.

IN IT FOR THE LONG HAUL

On day two of our ride, the path we were following ended at a flowing river. After wading through hip-high water and investigating the trail on the opposite bank, we realised there wasn’t one. Fortunately, a couple of fishermen were happy to help us make our way upstream. We loaded our belongings into their tiny “tinny” boat and flew up the river, where we joined another road that we hoped would take us where we needed to go.

The next day found us pushing our bikes through a sea of sand dunes in the blazing heat. It was here that we met a couple of locals going camping for the weekend. They shared their cold beers with us as we had a yarn – that’s Aussie slang for chat – in a shady patch on the 4WD track.

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Earlier, while unsuccessfully trying to climb a steep section of the road, I’d crashed – twice – and broken our PVC surfboard rack. I mentioned this to our new mates, and to my disbelief, one revealed that he was a plumber and had his tools with him. He fetched them from the back of his truck and mended my DIY board rack right there in the middle of nowhere.

Another day, we waited for low tide to ride our rigs along the beach. We made it most of the way, but when the sand got too thick, a couple of blokes swooped in and helped Nick carry the fully loaded trailer up to the parking lot.

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As the week progressed, the realisation that we might actually make it to Sydney started to sink in. It was almost unfathomable that our ridiculous idea was working. We’d rode across beaches, hopped fences, took boat rides, surfed, and slept wherever we could find a free place to set up our tent. We were on a real adventure. And, despite how many challenges we faced each day – most of them thanks to our makeshift surfboard rack and trailer – help was always waiting whenever and wherever we needed it. I’m sure our situation looked a little desperate to some of the people we ran into, but I felt like we were the luckiest kooks in the world.

HOME STRETCH

As we neared the city, the empty gravel trails became busy, narrow winding roads and traffic-laden highways. Although we missed the freedom the coastal pathways had provided, this journey had a due date, and our stamina, determination, and willpower were waning. Not to mention our surfboard rack was barely hanging on, and the surfboard trailer was so broken that the wheels were no longer spinning. Nick was literally dragging it behind him. By this point, it was a chaotic masterpiece held together mainly by zap straps, duct tape, and sheer hope. Above all else, the realisation that we were on the very brink of safety and security added a weight to our load that I didn’t think was possible. After all we’d endured, the final kilometres were some of the most challenging.

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Arriving at the door to our “new” residence was an emotional mix of elation and confusion. It felt like we’d been shaken from a dream and woken up not knowing where we were or how we’d got there. Although it was an adjustment at first, I’m forever grateful that we were so warmly welcomed into this new chapter – one that would last much longer than either of us had planned.

After we unpacked our belongings from our bikes and unhitched the trailer, we climbed a rickety ladder into a deteriorating granny flat. Our new home. As I lay on the sunken pullout couch that first night in our “open concept” loft – so open that I’d often wake up to possums eating chocolate off my bedside table – I couldn’t have been happier that our van had blown up. Sure we’d lost our house, job, car, and what little money and stability we had in Australia, but by losing the things that we thought were necessary to build a life, we ended up on the trip of a lifetime.

Tour de Kook Movie

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