Places We Like to Nomad: Thrills and Spills on the Cordillo Downs Road

From the Dig Tree was an hour on bitumen to fill up at the Innamincka Trading Post, a normally very isolated outpost that we heard was to be visited that night by a crowd of 100s of drivers on the famous Shitbox Rally, a motley collection of ailing bangers battling the Outback in true Aussie fashion for charity.

Not wanting to meet crowds, we drove smartly away up the Cordillo Downs Road expecting to bushcamp en route, breaking the trip to Birdsville, 440kms away.

Initial research indicated the road was open to 4wd only with caution. We soon crossed low-lying, barren, station lands and stopped at a large water pool across the road. We had a close squeak when we tried crossing the water. It was a treacherously deep boghole which we could only get out of in 4wd reversing inch by inch holding our breath as the wheels failed to grab, then finally traction intermittently pushed us back. Phew!

Then we spotted a chicken track climbing up the side of the road just before the bog. This was the not so obvious key to overcoming the bogholes. From then onwards we encountered maybe a dozen bogholes, each with a chicken track rising a metre above and around the boghole depressions.

The terrain and the road improved after a few hours when dunes, gibber, and graded stretches appeared. Our first red sand dune came in sight.

We met a gas company ute, then were passed by a hi-tech Volkswagen attempting a World Record of, I think, 10 desert crossings in 10 days. No other soul in sight for 7 hours at 38C.

We looked at the Heritage-listed Cordillo Downs Woolshed, then prepared to finish a long day at a bushcamp with a wine.

Suddenly, we spotted a burst of dust and a flash of light coming towards us. Gen said, there's an accident, looks like a car.

Sure enough, just as we were about to reach our camp, we had spotted an enormous 1250cc BMW sprawled across the track and a very bruised and shocked lone rider. He was almost incoherent with shock but managed to explain that it was his 8th fall today, including running over a snake that had whipped up at his leg. He had been trying to find some shade but there wasn't any, so he also had severe sunstroke. He heard his back crack when he fell and was in agony, his face a mess.

We got him in the cool aircon in our cab, gave him an energy bar, ham sarnie and more water - he had not eaten since breakfast and it was now 5pm. Thanks to our Starlink, we called 000 Emergencies who contacted the Royal Flying Doctors. Unfortunately, the area is so remote that there was no airstrip nearby for a plane. It couldn't land on a dirt road either. The area is not the Simpson Desert but very desert like, very very remote. By providing co-ordinates, the emergency girls worked out where we were, plus the added bureaucratic issue of whose region we belonged to because we were on the SA/Queensland border.

In a desperate effort, the biker swallowed a handful of painkillers, we took his panniers off his bike (about 40kgs) and put them in our car. We managed to get his monster bike upright. He said that if we followed him up to a road junction, he would ride his bike and take himself to Birdsville hospital 2 hours away. We said no way, we would go all the way with him. Night fell, a big no no for Outback driving in Australia. We saw him just avoiding a big kangaroo in the dark, then cattle on the road. And those corrugations! It was a nightmare.

Finally, we arrived in Birdsville at 9pm at the pub after driving all day, 12 hours, completely pooped.

The lovely pub crew gave Hans, the biker, a room and us all a drink, then we bushcamped on Birdsville common.

Next day, we did our errands and met various locals who soon had news of Hans' accident.

Looks like someone is still looking for the inland sea.

In the late arvo, we met a much revived Hans at the lovely, historical, convivial pub for wine, steak, and the welcome news that the clinic had checked out Hans and all was well. He was just very sore, needed a rest. No Xray could be done though as the clinic cannot convince anyone to come to Birdsville to operate the machine.

The pub staff regaled us with stories of another desert biker who technically died three times from internal bleeding whilst being airlifted out. Hans has a Dutch/Brit/Aussie heritage, is from Melbourne, does software developing, has travelled widely, and kept thanking us. A day of thrills and spills indeed!