Day 30 - Evans Head to Buccarumbi - 204kms

We got robbed.

While we were tucked away in our swags dreaming of adventures to come some shitbag stole my helmet, all our gloves, all our glasses, our toolkit, my Bluetooth motorcycle radio, all the money in our bags, my knife and one Bic lighter. It takes a special type of degenerate to steal a helmet off of a bike that is clearly on a long trip and that degenerate was skulking around Evans Head last night.
I filed a police report and then tried to find a helmet to purchase in a small beach town on a Sunday with no motorcycle stores of any kind. We got lucky when the campground manager offered to sell me his helmet and gloves for $60. The helmet was brand new and I was able to squeeze my XL head into its Medium shell. I gave the gloves to Mike and I used my thin back up set in conjunction with my grip heaters. The local cop started work at 11AM after working till 3AM the previous night keeping all the rowdies in the pub behaving. I spoke to him and then texted him pictures of my helmet which he said he would keep an eye out for and send to me if he found it. The nice thing about one cop towns is that they actually have a chance at solving small crimes like this. I'll stop crapping on about my missing stuff and get onto the ride.
We left town just after noon and heading west into the Richmond Range Mountains. We got our first dirt of the trip on our way to Whiporie. When we arrived there it was just a small fuel station with a couple farmers sitting out front. We stopped and the struck up a conversation with them and they pointed us in the direction of some good trails that would lead us towards our destination for the evening. We headed off after a few dead ends found a great trail through Mt. Neville Nature Reserve. The trail we were on looked like it hadn't been traveled in a few years and there were lots of branches to dodge and logs to ride over. We came to a particularly high log where I came to an instant stop when my front wheel hit it. My immediate response was to back up and then try to wheelie over it. My back wheel spun and all I accomplished was hitting it even harder and nearly throwing myself over the bars. Mike helped me pull my bike back and we made a makeshift ramp out of smaller logs leading up to the big one. This time my front wheel made it over but my back tire spun on it causing the bike to swing sideways about two feet. I was able to keep the bike upright with my incredible leg strength and then power over it in a cloud of chewed bark and tire smoke. Mike informed me that he was happy to ride the Husky over it as long as he wasn't liable for the damage caused my his upcoming crash. I agreed, shook his hand, told him to take it nice and slow, then got my camera ready. He approached it a little faster than I expected and got the Husky airborne for its first time.(see photo 1) It would have been perfect but the seat kicked him over the front of the bike and he landed very heavy on the front wheel.(see photo 2) He wobbled to a stop off the edge of the trail and miraculously kept the bike upright. We travelled on through tight single tracks, over logs, under fallen trees, through steep drops, sandy river beds and roads grown over with branches and vines. We popped out of the woods on a nice logging road and had no idea where we were. We turned right and came to a closed gate with a private property sign so we turned around and made our way out to a main road. There was a fuel station right where we came out and on closer inspection I realised it was the same one we had asked the farmers for directions at. Our 100 kilometre ride through the forest had brought us back to the same spot so we headed south before the farmers could see and laugh at us.
After a late lunch of meat pies and caramel tarts we fueled up and started down a 4wd trail I'd found online called The Old Glen Innes Road. We crossed the Nymboida River on a low water bridge right next to the ruins of a massive bridge that had collapsed in a flood in 1946. There was a nice campsite right on the river so we took advantage of having no itinerary and set up our swags. We still had a little light left so we got back on the bikes and did some more riding. We were the only ones in the campground and there was a perfect ramp so we got the bike airborne a few times. My 990cc KTM jumps very nicely but the landings are a bit harsh with it full loaded. We found some more logging trails and ended up going down a very steep washed out section just as it was getting dark. It was about two kilometres long and got steeper and looser as we went. It was then that I discovered my back brake wasn't working and that front wheel only braking with ABS on loose rock is very scary. Mike was honking at me but I couldn't stop if I wanted to so we rode it out until the bottom of the hill where it intersected the main road. I immediately asked Mike if he wanted to go back up and he said "Can't be any worse than going down." In a flash of common sense that rarely occurs with me I decided it probably wasn't smart in the dark we promised each other to do it on our way out the next morning.
We got back to camp, collected firewood, and then realised that only lighter we had was the one that was stolen. Bastard. We went deep into our memories of 80's & 90's Boy Scout training and got our fire started with my flint striker and Mike's pocket knife. After warming ourselves we each wrapped a hot rock from the fire in our towels to keep our sleeping bags toasty warm for the night.