Meet Sam

A truly sustainable method of travel around the enormous continent of Australia

The first time we happened upon Sam Mitchell we were driving west in Outback Queensland on the Gulf Developmental Road. 

Fortunately, Sam is a little hard to miss. He appears along the road a couple of kilometres in the distance as a series of dazzling red strobe lights. As you grow closer, you start to make out that the “lights” are actually strips of highly reflective fabric flapping in the hot air, attached to a slowly moving series of solar panels.

The material is literally brilliant when hit by the intense Australian sun. Which makes Sam, who is endeavouring to stay alive on the country’s notoriously dodgy roads while pedalling a homemade, solar-powered, recumbent, reverse-tricycle, a pretty smart man himself. (Or a not-so-smart one, depending on your perspective.)

There was no other traffic on the highway. Curious, we slowed down and pulled alongside the strange contraption. 

“Hey, hi,” we called out the window. “Where you headed to?”

Sam look over and smiled. He sat low to the bitumen in the shade of a 10-foot-long rectangle, courtesy of the eight solar panels above him. His legs were moving at a relaxed but steady clip.

“Normanton,” he called back.

“Going all the way to Karumba?”

Sam shook his head, smiling again.

“Well, stay safe.”

We exchanged waves as we took off around him.

Several days later, after a breathtaking sunset cruise on the Gulf of the Carpentaria, waterside camping on the Gregory River, swimming and canoeing in Lawn Hill Gorge, bushcamping near the Riversleigh fossil fields, and an unexpectedly hairy river crossing on the rocky back roads to Camooweal, we crossed paths with Sam again, along the Barkly Highway.

“Hey again!”

Sam grinned over at us. Who are these crazy women stalking me with their van? he may well have been thinking.

“How far you going today?” we asked.

“Burke and Wills,” he called back, referring to the well-known travellers’ rest stop, named after the early explorers’ party that came to an unfortunate end.

“Yeah, cool. Us, too. We’ll buy you a beer when you get in!”

At dusk, Sam showed up at our camp to let us know he’d made it. He popped up a small, one-man tent on the desert floor adjacent to our van. Then he diligently went to work on his vehicle, fixing a tyre, oiling the chain, fussing with the ball bearings. 

Sam told me he rode 200 to 300 km per day, averaging 30 km per hour, with his solar-powered trike doing most of the work. I asked him what he packed to sustain himself. He said he carried 10 litres of water and primarily ate oatmeal. He assured me the oats provided enough energy for his daily needs, but I couldn’t see how.

I noticed several well-wishers had written on the underside of the solar panels in black ink. “Sam, you Wild Man...” one of them began. I looked back at Sam. Dusty and disheveled, with clear blue eyes, a head of long, red curls and the start of a matching beard, he appeared to fit the description.

Later, we made good on our beer promise while Sam told us some of his story. He hailed from Orbost, Victoria. In March, he rode out of the town’s Sustainability Expo, organised by Landcare East Gippsland, to trek the length and breadth of Australia. At age 18, he was giving himself a full year off his university studies to make the journey.

He didn’t own a satellite phone and didn’t regularly check in with family. He said he felt perfectly safe in the world without either. A CB radio and a CD player attached to his handlebars are his only communication devices on the long, empty stretches between towns.

We parted ways early the next morning. One other time we saw Sam’s familiar lights as we tucked in and out of various gorges and bush walks in the Northern Territory. Then we lost him near Three Ways, as we drove south to Alice Springs and he, presumably, turned north for Darwin.

Three weeks and thousands of kilometres later, we began our trek west, the faraway Indian Ocean our destination. 

Then one day...

“What’s that up ahead? Oh, look at those lights! Is that Sam? It must be Sam!” 

There were hugs all around as we reunited. Sam’s hair and beard had grown much longer. It was nearly 40 degrees and he looked tired and spaced out, a little ungrounded, I guess. But he was still smiling, and no, thanks, he didn’t need anything.

A couple of days later we met up with some fellow travellers we’ve befriended, at a van park in Kununurra. They’d just seen Sam ride into town towards a different campground. 

“Oh, geez, we’re getting around Australia at the pace of a tricycle!” we all joked. (If you want to do a sustainable Aussie road trip, there’s some tough competition from this guy!)

Like us, Sam must now be crossing the beautiful but unforgiving Top End via the wild Kimberley. We don't expect to catch up with him again, but we think about him and hope he’s still safe and well. And every now and then, we stop and ask each other, “Where do you think Sam is now?”