Riding the Murder Road
Story Kieran Lewis The desolate and deserted Marlborough-Sarina Road in central Queensland, known by almost all travellers of a certain era as the “horror stretch”, was once a place of fear and death.
So when my brother said it would make a good detour on a ride we planned from Brisbane to Cooktown, we sought some professional advice from a friend at Queensland Main Roads. His counsel was unequivocal. We should not even consider riding the road, particularly on our decades-old BMWs.
“That road’s in terrible condition,” was the advice. “We haven’t spent a cent on it in years. There’s nothing out there. There’s no mobile coverage. Even a flat tyre will be a big problem.” Of course, this only increased our desire to see the old horror stretch for ourselves. It seems odd, in a country with thousands of miles of isolated roads, that 240 kilometres of bitumen between two Queensland towns, and fewer than 100 kilometres from the coast, should have such a reputation. But according to Canberra University professor Ross Gibson, in his 2002 book Seven Versions of an Australian Badland, the Marlborough-Sarina Road’s sobriquet was wellearned, with a history of violence dating from the 19th century. Prof. Gibson described the road as “winding through a haunted place”, a place of “casual as well as callous murder … from the 1970s, the 1960s or the 1860s.” Two centuries ago saw the despicably cruel treatment of islander labourers and local Aboriginals in the region, with more contemporary horrors including killings and woundings by gunshot, various other crimes, and wanton vandalism. With each act the Marlborough-Sarina Road’s notoriety grew. For many years this road was the only coastal connection between Queensland’s north and south. It was not just a physical highway bridging the north’s sparseness and the south’s hustle and bustle; but also a psychological no-man’s land, a dangerous gulf that had to be crossed before reaching the safety of towns at either side. In the 1960s, the Bruce Highway was mostly two lanes wide south of Marlborough and north of Sarina. But hitting the horror stretch in between found motorists tracking westward over mountain ranges to flat and featureless plains, negotiating rough single-lane bitumen, with no population centres to break the journey. My own memories of the 1960s horror stretch, as a child in the back of my parents’ FB and EH Holdens, are of dust and heat, harsh sunlight bouncing off broken windscreen glass, and abandoned vehicles rusting in the scrub. The road had been upgraded to two lanes by the time a new coastal highway between Marlborough and Sarina was opened in the 1980s, after which traffic on the older road faded and the few service stations and motels along its length closed their doors. Here was the surprise then, that the horror stretch we rode decades later was really in no worse condition than many back roads we’d ridden in other parts of the country. It was a highway now more lonely than lethal, although the many
“The old highway was as I remembered it – narrow, twisting and turning, rising and falling, and dropping onto low-level single-lane bridges without warning.”
kangaroos we passed, standing tall on the roadside, would suggest it is not a ride one should undertake at night. The old highway was as I remembered it – narrow, twisting and turning, rising and falling, and dropping onto low-level single-lane bridges without warning. It is bookended by the Broadsound Range to the south and the Sarina Range to the north and the surface through these was good enough for some spirited riding. One service station remained open, mid-point at Lotus Creek. This was once a bustling oasis. But its cafeteria was long gone and the adjacent caravan park and camp ground were overgrown and empty. An old bowser dispensed unleaded, a slightly newer one, diesel. Near Lotus Creek we stopped at the former Barmount service station and motel. An eerie place only metres from the road, it was splintered, crumbling, and overrun by nature. Similar remains of the Connors River roadhouse and cabins were further north, but with Main Roads’ advice in mind, we did not brave the detritus littering the long driveway to these. Along the road we saw just one other vehicle – a police van that settled behind us long enough to have its on-board computer check our registrations and outstanding warrants, before speeding into the distance. Overall, the Marlborough–Sarina Road gave us that not unpleasant feeling that goes with isolation and abandoned places, and we were pleased we made the effort. However, since we rode the horror stretch, floods have destroyed the Lotus Creek service station, which has not been rebuilt, washed away some of the single-lane bridges, and damaged the Sarina Range section of the road, which has only just reopened.