Thoughts from the Road
Steve and George’s Excellent Adventure to the Sunshine Coast Odyssey.
September 12 –17 2007.
 

Day1 Canberra to Wallabadah 735 kms.
I’m not a superstitious person but the morning I showered to leave on this ride I broke my shaving mirror. At the time I reflected on the seven year bad luck thing but dismissed it as a pile of poo. I’ll let you be the judge.

I do a perfunctory check of the Guzzi the day before we are due to leave and both the rear tyre and battery give cause for concern. The tyre only has 11 psi even though the tyres are new and have only been on the bike for two weeks. The valve appears to be leaking so I replace it, I will need to check it again in the morning. I then phone George and seek his advice on the flat battery but he assures me that it just needs a good run.

George arrives right on time at 8:00 am on his immaculately prepared 2006 Suzuki Bandit 1200. Like so many motorcycle riders George has modified his bike so that it performs to his requirements. It’s a work in progress.

The first hour is just about settling in to the ride and finds us out near Boroowa where the carefully prepared itinerary of the ride is lost when I stand up to stretch and the map slips out of the tank bag and onto the seat just in time to get squashed by me as I sit down. The itinerary is just a piece of paper with each significant town listed in order with the appropriate mileage listed next to it and all the petrol stops marked. I find this a useful device when traveling a route I haven’t traveled before. However I don’t discover the loss of this important piece of paper until I need it many kilometers hence. Is that a turtle crossing the road?

I lead, and I think George prefers this because it lets him relax in the background, it also gives him the opportunity to pick up anything that might fall off the Moto Guzzi, not that it happens a lot but with a twenty year old bike anything is possible as you will find out later.

George at Cowra

We stop for a quick cuppa on the side of the road at Cowra. Just a leg stretch and quick drink then back on our way.

The ride is uneventful and we make good time to Molong where we stop for our first refuel. My mission is to stretch out our fuel stops to the maximum. An extra 50 klm per tank can mean a lot on a big trip. We’ve traveled 310 klm, only another 1200 + to go.

An hour later finds us in Wellington at a favourite café that provides lunch and an opportunity for George to make friends with his first dog of the trip, a small Jack Russell cross. If you have traveled with George you will know that he has a dog in every port, so to speak. Dogs and George have an affinity for each other as you will see.

From Wellington we proceed to Gulgong, a lovely heritage town where all the street signs are old style just to confuse you. We backtrack and then turn east towards the coast.
 It is on this stretch while trying to negotiate a tricky intersection at Cassilis that I discover the itinerary has gone missing. George later recalls that he might have seen something akin to an A4 piece of paper fly off into the bush just before Boorowa. I joke that we can pick it up on the way back. Despite the missing itinerary we lose little time.

The Merriwa Bakery provides afternoon tea and a welcome break, as we enter I notice the ‘old man’ sitting proudly on the door by the handle. We also fill up with petrol here after just 262 klms. I had found a road on the map between Merriwa and Scone that offered a great short cut to the New England highway but it showed about 30 km of dirt. However after a bit of a Google and a quick email, a lovely lady in the Merriwa visitor centre assured me that the road was sealed the whole way now.

The road to Scone turns out to be one of those delightful surprises you get when you try something new. There are about 64 klms of high speed sweepers. It’s mid afternoon and finally warming up a little bit and the sweepers just keep coming. We are traveling at about 130 – 140 kph with not a gendarme in sight. Unfortunately the battery in my iPod runs out and this disappoints me because I made a special effort to fully charge it just before we left. My musical accompaniment comes to an abrupt halt but the exhilaration of the sweepers continues. This stretch of road is one of the highlights of the trip and I am already looking forward to coming back this way in 5 days time.

Time to push on, I want to get to Tamworth or even Uralla to stop for the night but I fear the light is against us. The ‘bush’ has now turned into a lush green landscape and it would be hard to convince someone from overseas that we are still in the grips of a ferocious drought. The grass is literally up to the bellies of the cows.
As the light fades the insects come out and our visors quickly fill with squished bugs. Tamworth may be a bit ambitious. As we reach Scone we lose the rest of the light and any further travel today will be done in the dark. We push on for another 80 klms but there is no fun in this and we call it quits in a small town called Wallabadah.

The local pub, The Marshall – McMahon offers accommodation for $20 pp and off street parking for the bikes. We are the only guests and also represent about 20% of the patrons. The publican cooks us a fabulous T-bone steak meal with the best veggies I’ve ever had on the road, I swear he must have grown them himself they were so tasty. Dinner costs us $20 each (plus a couple of well-earned beers). We’ve traveled about 710 klms, a bit short of where I would like to be. George brings his ear plugs to bed with him so that he can get some sleep, seriously I don’t think I snore that much.
 

The Marshal-McMahon

The room is basic but clean, the bathroom down the hall is another story. The publican warns us that they have been having minus temperatures over the last few days but it’s OK because I can see the electric blanket through the bed sheet – I didn’t think they could get that thin.
 

George Brews Up ...

Day 2 Wallabadah to Esk 660 kms
There is definitely a frost on the pumpkin this morning and my Italian mistress won’t start without a ‘jump’, so much for professional advice. Fortunately George has a set of jumper leads and a quick jump from his battery sees my Italian beauty roar into life and then settle down into a steady idle while she warms up. Fortunately I have brought my iShuffle along so I connect it up instead of the iPod. It is much smaller and I don’t expect it to last long because it hasn’t been charged up for a while but at least I will have some music for part of the day.

Repacking our bikes doesn’t take long and we are soon on the road again. We make a quick start and reach Uralla for breakfast where I had hoped to stop last night. We enjoy a country style breakfast in Thunderbolt country. I bought some nice antiques here back in the mid ‘70s, no bargains to be had here today though. We fill the bikes up with petrol so that we won’t have to stop for a while. We are getting about 310 – 320 klms between refills. The Guzzi has a range of about 380 before it hits reserve and then a further 100 before it runs dry but the Bandit is limited by a much smaller tank.

We intend to travel quickly today and avoid the big towns by having ‘tea on the road’, George has made several thermoses of tea to carry us through the day. We also carry health and energy bars and I have packed a decent size zippy bag with a dried fruit and nut mix to sustain us if we can’t stop for lunch, its low fat and low GI and more healthy than ‘road’ food such as pie and chips.

We make good time despite the number of speed cameras, we settle in to the rhythm of the road and soon see Armidale, Glen Innes and Tenterfield pass beneath our wheels. We stop on the side of the road for a break and some tea. It seems a shame not to stop in some of these charming country towns but the schedule I have set for us doesn’t allow much time for sightseeing. This is something we will discuss later. We spend the break talking and watching the wide variety of vehicles pass us in the full knowledge that we will probably have to pass them when we resume our journey.

We are close to the Queensland border now and are soon crossing into cane toad country. A sign greets us with the information that there is a $30,000 fine for keeping rabbits. I fancy all of the locals let theirs go when they heard this. We push on through Ironstone country towards Warwick. Stanthorpe comes and goes and despite the desolate looking countryside it is obvious that a lot of produce is grown in this area, we pass many fruit stalls and markets gardens.

I watch each of the mileage signs with one eye on my odometer, I’m getting concerned that I have pushed it too far this time it looks like George may run out of fuel 20 klms short of Warwick. I pull to the side of the road and we discuss the situation. George feels confident that he can make the extra distance because the Bandit has been getting such good fuel economy. We continue into the afternoon sun. I wish I still had the itinerary because I had marked the fuel stops we needed to make. At last Warwick is in sight and the Bandit is still firing on all four cylinders, we pull into a servo and fill up with 345 klms on the clock. Marathon effort. George is sure he could do another 20 or so. In theory we should not have to fill up again between here and our ultimate destination.

We have covered 484 klms so far today and there is still another 300 + to go. It is about 2.00 pm but we are both a bit saddle sore and take a well earned break at the Belle Vuf (I think the sign is broken) Café in the main street. I watch the Good Guys driver unload his truck at a RetraVision store across the street while George makes friends with as many dogs as pass him by. I’m convinced that the Maltese terrier is the most popular dog in Australia. We sit outside and the waitress brings our coffees to us, the service we receive as we travel is first class, not always the most professional but certainly the most friendly, gives me a sort of ‘down home’ feeling. I do love country Australia.

At the Belle Vuf, must get back to the gym when we get home

Back on the road and it is a short blast to Towoomba where we discover that an enterprising salesperson has sold the Towoomba council a shit-load of traffic lights and we catch every one of them. It takes us a good 30 minutes to pass through town on the alternative route, what a waste. We must make sure that we don’t come back this way on our return trip.

The plan now is to turn off the highway 32 klm out at Crows Nest and drop down through the Crows Nest National Park to Esk. This is one of the featured rides in Peter Thoeming’s Motorcycle Atlas and it doesn’t disappoint. The ride is down through the mountains to Esk and then on to the coast.

The temperature has been rising throughout the day and we are still wearing our thermals, after all it was minus one this morning when we left, it seems like an age ago. The 46 klm run down to Esk is one of the most memorable rides I have ever had. We are traveling fast, about 130 kph, and the sweepers and bends just keep rolling on towards us. We arrive at Esk exhausted but exhilarated. After a ride like that I just want to sit somewhere and replay it in my mind. We find a hotel with accommodation and decide to stay the night here and travel the last 150 klms to the coast in the morning. We are both dripping with sweat, it seems to have heated up all of a sudden, or is it just us cooling down after a pretty strenuous workout. I tend to forget how hard you work when riding the twisties.

We have traveled well today and once again finished off with a memorable stretch of road, little do we know that there is better to come before the trip is over.

The Grand Hotel is where we lob for the night. Accommodation is $55.00 a twin but we get it for $40.00 without even asking. In contrast to last night the room and bathroom are both excellent but the food is only so-so, palatable but nothing to write home about, $15 for a Fisherman’s Basket that you could have deep-fried in your own kitchen. The bathroom facilities are typical 1930’s but clean and when the hot water finally arrives at the second floor it is breathtaking.
The Manager has two of the biggest Bull Mastifs I have ever seen, one has a head so big I’m sure it must be deformed, I don’t know how it keeps its head up. They are contained in a large fenced backyard thank goodness. George has them eating out of his hand before we have even unpacked. Our bikes are secured in the courtyard behind the hotel. The Manager assures us they will be safe because they have three security patrols each night. I can’t help but wonder why they need that many patrols in such a small country town.

The Dogs of Esk

Small    and    Large
 

While having a quiet beer in the bar with the locals I notice that there are a number of items of for sale, t-shirts, hats, stubby coolers etc. and then there is the Road Kill Ring Burner “the champagne of all beef jerkies”. I’ve got to have a packet of that, the barmaid assures me it is hot as hell. The use by date is January 2008 so I still have time to work up courage to try it. Anyone care to join me?

Despite the rust in the sink the accommodation at The Grand was excellent.

Day 3 Esk to Mujimba 151 kms
Breakfast is a handful of fruit and nuts and a cup of tea, thanks George. There is a heavy mist but the road is dry so we set off again on the last leg. A fast run to the Somerset Dam turnoff and we are once again amongst the twisties for another 25 klms. Unfortunately its over too soon.
Because we are so close to our destination there is no rush today so we stop at the Somerset Dam camp ground for a cappuccino and a flat white. This is an idyllic spot in a temperate forest. There are about half a dozen vehicles parked amongst the trees. No-one is up yet but according to the sign the general store should be open and serving espresso coffee. There are benches and tables under the trees and I look forward to a coffee here. The shop is still not open so we decide to brew our own and avail ourselves of the use of the tables.
A man in a white car turns up, maybe the owner, but no just someone here to pick up his mail. He informs us that the owner has had a death in the family in Melbourne during the week but is supposed to be back by now. He doesn’t seem very pleased. I ask him if the death was expected and he replies no, the man’s Father died suddenly. The man starts to drive off and then stops and offers to brew us a cuppa at his place if we would like. George thanks him for his generosity but we can brew our own. We proceed to make ourselves a morning tea.

Making our own

As we sit and appreciate the birdsong a young man in a four wheel drive towing a boat turns up looking for a boating permit to go out fishing on the dam. We tell him the story and he heads off looking for the Ranger. He is back within 15 minutes because the Ranger is out ‘bush’ somewhere. George engages him in idle chatter about fish stocks and favourite baits. As they chat I notice that the General Store, if open, could supply us with the famous African Night Crawler, it sends a shiver up my back, what sort of creature could this be? (By shear coincidence, two days after I get back, I discover that it is a particularly large variety of worm very popular with fisherfolk.)
George and I agree that when we travel to Townsville next year this spot deserves at least a day of our time, I make a mental note to put it on the itinerary.
As we head off a murder of crows continues its cacophony of song as it hassles all the other birds in the area.

Idyllic surroundings

The rest of the run to the coast is relatively uneventful, the traffic becomes thicker and the trip is less interesting. We reach the Bruce Highway and turn North for the last 30 klms. There has been a nasty accident between two heavy vehicles on the other side of the highway and the traffic there is banking up for miles. Police are putting out the witches hats and marking the road with yellow paint, we all know what that means.
With 307 klms on the clock we pull into a BP station and fill up and have a bit of brunch. I check my directions with the attendant at the counter and she confirms our exit is second on the left.
The Guzzi battery has behaved itself for the last day and a half but now starts to hesitate when starting, time to buy a new battery I think, George agrees.
We set off and take the correct exit and find ourselves 15 minutes later at Mujimba, there is the ‘old man’ sign and all seems well until we realize that we have missed a turn and have to backtrack a few kilometers the last 500 metres of which is dirt. We hit the dirt at about 80 kph and though the surface is good there are some huge potholes, my suspension bottoms out hard twice, let’s not drop it now.

Check-in is easy with lots of friendly faces and advice. I get directions to the nearest ‘battery factory’. We are encouraged to avail ourselves of the free mozzie repellent, “didyahaveagoodweekend” type or an age old recipe of Dettol and baby oil, we pick the home remedy. It’s efficacy proves to be a myth. We also book and pay for two bus tickets to the Eumundie Markets tomorrow because apparently the “bus fills up quickly”, we’ll be right.

We choose a nice shady spot towards the back of the campground but not too close to the large pool of water amongst the trees. How far North do you have to go before you see ‘salties’? Nothing to worry about here though, apparently the mozzies have driven all the crocs out. Of course we don’t know this yet.

Plenty of grass and shade

After we set up camp we head off to find the ‘battery factory’ and the local shopping mall to pick up some necessary items. After following the directions to the letter and not finding the aforementioned battery factory I stop to ask directions. “Yes the battery factory has moved to the next industrial estate along the highway”. A quick detour and we find it. At the ‘factory’ there are racks with hundreds and hundreds of batteries of all shapes and sizes, I hope they’ve got one that fits my ‘mistress’. As often happens they have every other battery to fit a Moto Guzzi except for mine, unless I want a maintenance free one at some extra cost. Maybe maintenance free is a good choice even at twice the price of a normal battery. I part with $307.00 while George modifies the battery compartment to fit the new battery. This battery while being more powerful than the standard one is surprisingly quite a bit smaller. At least I now have some extra storage space under the seat.

Off to the Maroochydore Mall where George finds himself some lightweight pants that are ideal for this semi-tropical climate. The price tag shows they have been marked down from $50.00 to $15.00, I’m so impressed that I buy a pair as well. I also pick up some thongs because they are easy to pack and make good casual wear in this temperature. When we reach the checkout we find there is an extra 20% off sale and we get our bargain pants for $12.00. If I had picked up a cheap shirt I could have had a complete outfit for less than $30.00.

George leads us back by the scenic route along the coast, who needs a GPS. We eyeball some suitable fishing spots but don’t stop because we have already booked in for dinner at the campsite.
When we get back there is a ‘jukebox’ playing outside the bar and there are about 100 people gathered chatting, drinking and generally having an outrageous time. We join them for a drink. God the mozzies are thick, they’re even biting us through our clothes. They seem to bother George more than me. Tomorrow our neighbours will lend us some ‘didyahaveagoodweekend’. They have come down after work from Brisbane, 30 minutes away. They’re a bit surprised that we have traveled for two days to get here.
We go for a walk down to the estuary to check out the local fishing spots, there are a few ‘tinnies’ out and a couple of people fishing from the shore, not much biting apparently but its a good spot for flathead and whiting apparently. Maybe we’ll come back tomorrow and throw in a line.

The dinner gong rings at 6:30 pm and we all troop over to the dining hall for our lamb shanks and gravy. All of the food is cooked in the commercial kitchen attached to the dining room and comes out piping hot. The meals are only $12.00 and prove to be excellent value. When we are finished we wander back to the bar and forget there is still desert on offer, maybe tomorrow night. After a couple of drinks we head off for bed. Once in my tent I close the screen and turn on the light and proceed to squish all the mozzies that have invaded since I was last here. I drift off to sleep listening to the band serenade the half dozen people left on the dance floor. They are taking requests, I’m surprised by their repertoire, they seem to know everything. I sleep in relative peace, mozzie free.


Day 4 Saturday
I wake early as you tend to in a tent. There is only myself and a Bush Turkey up at this time. The showers are clean with plenty of hot water and not surprisingly empty at 5:30 am. When I get back I boil the billy and snack on some fruit and nuts and a yoghurt health bar. George gets up and heads for the showers. My phone needs charging so I plug it into the bike so it will charge while I do other things.

Once George has had some breakfast we head off to the local shop for a sticky beak and a few ods and sods such as water for the bus trip and the markets.
When we get back the bus is waiting so we get straight on rather than going back to the tents. George’s sunglasses lost a lense on the last leg of our trip so a new pair is high on George’s shopping list.
The markets are about 25 klms away and its nice to sit back and let someone else do the driving and navigating. The countryside is quite boring but it is obvious from the flotsam and the standing water that they have had a lot of rain here recently.
When we arrive the driver parks the bus and takes us on foot to the market explaining that on the left side of the road is the new market and the right side is the hairy arm brigade.

We start on the left and do a complete circuit walking past each stall most of which offer what appears to be good quality but mass produced goods. George buys some sunglasses. We head for the other side of the road. I suddenly remember that my phone is back at the campsite sitting on the seat of the Guzzi being charged. I put my faith in the honesty of my fellow travelers.

Here we find market stalls set willy nilly amongst the trees in the park and spilling up and over the hill on the other side of the main street. These markets are buzzing with a relaxed sort of energy. In the middle of the throng we find a busker playing Bluegrass under a huge Moreton Bay Fig and selling his latest CD. We sit and have coffee and listen, he is really quite good. His name is Mark Moroney and both George and I buy one of his CDs, George insists that he autograph them for us. Mark explains that he recorded it in a number of his fiends’ lounge rooms until they got tired of all the equipment. He is proud that it is truly a local product. He assures us that a professional sound engineer did the recording and as I listen to it now I have no doubt about it.

We continue on until we have seen all of the stalls, I buy some incense at a small Indian shop. George buys a small brass container inlaid with semi-precious stones. We joke with the woman who owns the stall about the exotic names on the incense. I buy an incense burner as well.
We’ve had enough now and head back to the bus. There is a spruiker in the street and he is dressed in multi-coloured day glow tights and a fur-trimmed waistcoat, flower power sunglasses and a black curly wig. He keeps up a constant patter attracting as many people as possible to the markets, I wish I had brought my camera.

The bus trip back is uneventful and we get back mid afternoon. My phone is where I left it and fully charged.

Back at camp George and I sit and watch as the Bush Turkey plunders a makeshift garbage bag that is attached to our neighbour’s tent. The Turkey approaches the bag warily and then strikes at it with its leg. The claws are sharp and soon rip a hole in the side of the bag. Now the turkey empties the bag piece by piece. Each time he finds an interesting piece of rubbish he darts of into the bush with it. He soon comes back and starts the process over again until there is nothing left.
George and I feel a little guilty about not stopping this blatant vandalism but its just too entertaining.

The vandal at large.

Time to go fishing.
We get all of the gear we need and put it in my top-box. We both have telescopic rods that pack easily on the bikes. A quick stop at the local shop to get some bait and we are on our way. George leads off because he is the fishing maestro and knows all the good spots. We are only about one kilometer from camp when George makes a sudden complete rotation of a roundabout and heads off into one of the canal estates, I follow him. As we enter the estate George makes a quick right hand turn across a pedestrian crossing and heads for the other side of the road where he has seen a promising spot. As I turn to follow I see the four wheel drive bearing down on George at about 80 kph, my heart skips a beat for there is nothing I can do and George is now on the crossing directly in front of the vehicle. I feel a sense of complete helplessness, what am I going to say to Mary? The driver has good reaction time and pulls his vehicle to a halt, George is still blissfully unaware of how close he came to not going home. Even though George’s manouvre was unwise I check the governing speed sign later in the afternoon as we leave the estate, it states “Shared zone – 10 kph”.
As we check out the fishing spot a local with two dogs in tow arrives and we start chatting about suitable fishing spots and likely catches. George is in seventh heaven, two dogs in one go. They vie for his attention, they ignore me.

Following local advice we set up underneath a bridge where the locals fish. Many people pass and stop to talk, everyone is so friendly. George pulls in a smallish Finger Mark and proceeds to de-hook it. We practice catch and release, unfortunately the fish dies in the process and becomes bait. Now it’s my turn and I catch a Finger Mark and successfully release it and recast my line into the canal. My rod starts to jerk with the nibbling interest of a fish, I jerk it at the right moment and hook what ever is there. The rod doubles over and it’s obvious I have something of a reasonable size, not another Finger Mark but a tropical Angel Fish of about ‘pan size’. I release it as we already have dinner booked. As it hits the water it takes off at some speed for a deeper and quieter part of the canal.

Some local teenagers arrive on the opposite side of the canal and proceed to bait up. They are in high spirits and we can hear the good-natured banter they engage in. As I look up I notice one of them has his rod at an unusual upright angle, he’s hooked a tree while casting. He gets plenty of stick from his friends.
On our side of the canal George keeps feeding the fish while I wait for some interest from the fish.
There is very little tidal flow in the canal and the first caught FM has now been consigned to the water to rejoin ‘the circle of life’. I notice a smallish crab is crabbing along the bottom of the canal heading for the FM carcass. The crab is not alone in the race for the carcass but well out in front and wins the prize. The last I notice it is carrying off a windfall that is several times larger than itself. My rod starts its excited dance again and I hook another big one. It is another sizeable fish, unfortunately a big Toadie that bites through my line as I get it into the shore. I don’t mind it getting away, they’re cute when they’re small but god they grow up ugly, a bit like us I suppose. I re-hook my line but neither George nor I get another bite. We fish the afternoon away just chatting with the locals and between ourselves, life in the slow lane.
The light is fading so we pack up and go home to dress for dinner. All of our fish were caught on bait and without the benefits of the Redfin Wonder Wobbler that is much revered in the Southern waters.

Dinner is beef or chicken, both well prepared. The meals on offer have been excellent, we only chose the dinners but I understand that the breakfasts were just as well prepared. We wait for our desserts this time and enjoy apple crumble and cream.

After dinner George and I sit and talk with some of the Sunshine Coast members until it is time to go and listen to the band. We stay a while and have a few drinks and then retire to our tents. We have along way to go tomorrow.


Day 5 Mujimba to Uralla 673 kms
This morning is not going well. I can’t seem to get everything packed back on my bike. I have less to take back because we ate the canned food and drank the bottle of wine so why won’t it all fit back in. I throw a ‘tanty’ and start swearing at my flouro light for being such an awkward shape. George is unflappable and starts suggesting, in the nicest way, what I can do with my unpackable things. It’s amazing how just when you think you have dealt with the past it comes back to haunt you at the oddest of moments. I enjoy traveling with George, he is so non-judgemental. I decide to take the billy out of the pannier and ocky it onto the top of the bike. It solves the problem but I always feel a bit like a swaggy when I do this, a bit less professional. It’s as though it is a statement about my incompetence as a traveler. We get away 30 minutes late.

George leads us up the highway to meet up with Alan, an old friend of his. I am happy to sit behind George and let him do the navigating, I am certainly not in the right frame of mind to be leading anyone anywhere. It’s not long before we are lost. As we sit on the side of the highway while George calls Alan, aren’t mobile phones wonderful, I observe the traffic that passes us. Everyone seems to be traveling well over 110 kph, is it my imagination or does everyone up here seem to be in a desperate hurry to get somewhere else? Alan doesn’t answer his phone so George leaves a message and we decide to push on and catch up with Alan another time.

Less than five kilometers further on and we stop again, this time at a servo, George’s phone has been vibrating in his pocket, it’s Alan, he is at the next petrol stop just 10 kilometers further up the road. Turns out we aren’t lost, we just didn’t know where we were. We are now an hour behind schedule.

We roll into Morayfield and fill with fuel with just 137 klms on the clock. Alan has been waiting for an hour but is still in good humour. After filling the bikes we fill ourselves with coffee and meat pies. George and Alan catch up and then we all start talking generally about bikes. Alan has an unusual Honda 750cc Magna, very much a cruiser, not my favourite style of bike.
Alan informs us that he is going to take us on the “Three M’s” run minus one M. The three Ms are Mount Mee, Mount Mary and Maleny but we will skip Maleny today. Alan also warns us of the large number of motorcycles we will come across, particularly at two popular coffee stops. He talks of hundreds bikes lined up in the streets. It sounds a bit of an exaggeration but proves to be an accurate observation
We head off and Alan negotiates a few suburban roads away from the highway and we are soon climbing into the hills. He sets a brisk pace and leaves no doubts to his ability at handling a cruiser at speed in the twisties, I readjust my opinion of cruisers or at least Alan and his. We continue like this for about 120 klms, I’m getting tired. There are two incidents that stand out during the morning, the first is when we came across a 20 kph corner at the bottom of a gully that has seen the Armco punched very hard by a vehicle, there are two riders on the side of the road, both women, but only one bike. They don’t look distressed and there is no debris on the road. As I watch George mis-judge the corner and almost ‘kiss’ the same Armco I fall into the same trap. Both of us recover in time but it becomes obvious how easily you can come to grief.
The second is when we pass two riders on Hayabusas on the side of the road at a corner. We pass them and turn left accelerating hard up the hill, I am doing 140+ kph when the first, and then the second Hayabusa pass us, at an estimated speed of 200 kph, no exaggeration. They disappear very quickly up the hill. We come across them again on the side of the road about 20 klms further on, they are talking to a third Hayabusa rider, I hope they are not going our way. We don’t see them again.

We finally stop for a cuppa and Alan explains that this is the best riding country in Queensland and well within reach of Brisbane. Time for photos and goodbyes, we vow to catch up with him when next we travel North. I thank Alan for a memorable ride and for his taking the time to share it with us. By the time he gets home it will be late afternoon, he’s given us his day.
Alan takes us to a junction the leads to Gatten and avoids Towoomba and the traffic lights.

Farewelling Alan at Coominya

Once again we are riding across the lush Darling Downs and 90 minutes later we arrive at Warwick where we quickly refuel (311 klms) and head down the New England once again. We are well behind schedule but we have had such a rich experience neither of us cares about the schedule. We’ll just put in a longer day to make up for it

.

Just another roadside interview

At Stanthorpe we stop in the main street to put on some warmer clothes, the iShuffle finally runs out of battery, no more music for the rest of this run. I take out my Earmolds and put in normal foam earplugs. George needs to ‘go’. We leave town and stop at the nearest rest stop, Celtic Country, have a quick cuppa and get back on the road. We are going to have to push it if we want to be in Wallabadah by 6:00 pm.

This time we skirt around Tenterfield, did you see those turtles on the road, must be a migration. The light is fading fast now when disaster strikes. Just outside Glen Innes we are traveling at about 130 kph entering into a bridge crossing when the suspension sounds as though it bottoms out though there didn’t appear to be a pot hole, the bike continues on regardless and as I accelerate up the other side I notice a louder sound, I back off and the sound disappears, I accelerate again and there it is the sound again, load, barking, raucous. I look down to my right, where has my muffler gone? I look in my mirror, where is George? I slow down and do a u-turn. Back at the bridge George is stopped on the side of the road, he has my muffler in his hand, he has heroically saved it from being squashed by oncoming traffic, at least we might be able to re-attach it now. I ocky it on to the back of my bike and we head off in search of a suitable place to stop and repair it.

The entrance to a closed winery has enough room for us to pull off the road safely, it also has the necessary supplies for us to affect a temporary fix that may get us back to Canberra. As we inspect the muffler it is immediately apparent that the bracket has fractured and without a welder or another bracket we will have to improvise. I notice there is some fencing work going on and manage to find sufficient surplus wire for us to re-attach the muffler. I’m glad I always carry a rudimentary tool kit. We re-adjust an ocky strap so that it will provide sufficient tension on the
wire and keep the muffler at the correct angle.

The fix

We are back on the road within 30 minutes but we have lost the sun. The rest of today’s travel will be during the dusk, kangaroo heaven. I travel a bit more slowly now, will the muffler fix hold? George observes from behind while the bugs come out to play squish.

Armidale 329 klms – we meet a man who is putting massive amounts of oil in his mid ‘80s Corolla, it has terminal problems, he admires the bike and we start up a conversation. He and his father have just traveled up from Adelaide towing a boat!! The last set of hills have killed his car so they have left the boat at a friends house. He tells me he only paid $500.00 for the car so it owes him nothing. He tells me he is starting a new life, now the kids are old enough to look after themselves, there is no sign of a partner. He asks if we know the way to Ebor, we’ve just passed the sign, I tell him next on the right, one less problem for him to worry about, I feel pleased that I could help him. We decide to put the liners in our jackets. I would have liked to get to Wallabadah and stop there for the night but its late and cold so why take the risk. Only 22 klms to Uralla.

The first pub turns us away, no rooms are made up, we’ll use our sleeping bags I venture but they’re not interested. The second pub we try is a different story. Once again we are lucky enough to pick a pub that offers biker discounts. We get a double room for $60.00 instead of $80.00. I ask if there is secure parking for the bikes and there is but we are leaving too early in the morning to get them out of the lockup. We get upgraded to a ground floor suite at no extra cost so that we can park our bikes at the door.

The Coachwood Cedar Hotel

Tonight we choose the mixed grill and are assured by the owners’ son that we won’t finish it. He’s right. While we wait for our dinners we strike up a conversation with a local ambo. He rides a Triumph Tiger and proceeds to tell us everything there is to know about the marque and dirt riding in the district. He has covered a lot of miles. He drinks two scotches and a beer while we eat our dinners. We turn in early, it’s been a long day but tomorrow will be longer.

Very comfortable and an en-suite too!

Day 6 Uralla to Canberra 802 kms
Early start, George breaks his new sunglasses, we put it down to cold plastic. He has fixed the old ones with some superglue so presses them back into service. After 90 klms we reach Tamworth and stop at ‘maccas’ for breakfast, no dogs here so we don’t hang around too long.

Breakfast at Macca’s

Wallabadah comes up quickly and we take a comfort stop at the 1st Fleet Memorial Park.
The caretaker and a local councilor are there discussing capital works, I ask them about another shortcut to Merriwa. They tell me that not only is the road almost all dirt but also in poor condition, the councilor smuggly points out that the road in question is in the next Shire. I’m glad I asked.

George finds another Friend

As we get back on the road the wind is picking up, I hope it is just temporary. We leave the New England highway at Scone, we have a strong cross wind. There will be less traffic now and we can travel a bit faster. A quick stop for tea on the road outside of Scone. The wind is blowing a gale now. We check the muffler fix and all appears well but is that a crack starting in the other one. We decide to get some cable ties in Merriwa to support it in case it breaks also.

Here we are back at Merriwa again, this time we stop for a late lunch. A pie for each of us and a sausage roll for me, coffees all round.
I enjoy a nice sausage roll but so few bakeries seem to know how to make nice ones these days. You need to have just the right proportions of meat and bread crumbs with just enough herbs and spices to make them tasty without overpowering the flavour of the meat and of course the pastry must not leave that greasy feel in your mouth. This one is superb so I offer half to George he politely refuses but eats it anyway. Without our glasses we try to work out how far it is to Wellington and both add the mileage from the map twice and come up with four different answers, we give up. I hate growing old.

It is now that dangerous part of the day where I feel I could sit here in the sun forever and watch the world go by. One of my favourite pass times is the observation of the humdrum of life, best done in the main street of any town. The elderly lady having afternoon tea with her Maltese Terrier cross, George has already introduced himself, the children on their way home from school, suitably disshevelled. Mum and the kids doing the shopping, she immaculately dressed complete with makeup.

And then, there is the mid 30’s rural professional leaving the bakery with a carton of iced coffee. He looks successful because he is driving a late model luxury car. The door doesn’t open first time with the remote so he puts the carton of milk on the roof as he uses the key to open the door. As he drives off I notice that the carton of milk is still on the roof so I jump up and yell out to him much to the surprise, and I fear alarm, of the locals who are around me. Alas the driver doesn’t hear me and continues up the street as I explain my behaviour to my neighbours “he’s left his milk on the roof”. George and I watch in awe as the car accelerates up the main street with the milk still in place, that is, until he turns left off the main street and the milk slides gracefully off the roof and out of sight. Back to sitting in the sun.

As delicious as this is we must make a move and I get up and cross the street to use the bathroom at the visitor’s centre. There is a small agricultural machinery display and a large hall filled with local produce. Once the business is done I peruse the produce looking for a gift for my estranged wife. Though we live apart we are still good friends and I hope it will stay that way. We had many good years and raised a family of beautiful boys who have grown up to be fun loving, hard working well adjusted respectful men.

I find a pincussion that I hope is filled with local wool but alas it is not, so I buy a pot pourrie of lavender. The lady at the counter informs me that it is locally grown at Cassilis, I know of Cassilis. I fancy that this is the person who reassured me via email that the road to Scone had no dirt but I don’t ask. There is a craft circle at work to the left of the counter and when I enquire of the distance to Wellington one of the women informs me that it is two hours away. I ask how far is that in kilometers? We laugh at the different perspectives that men and women bring to a simple thing like discussing directions. Another woman in the group tells me that her husband can do it in 90 minutes if he sets the cruise control. It turns out to be 182 klms and takes us about one hour 45 minutes. As we leave town we stop to fill up with petrol with 314 Klms on the clock.

The riding is tiring, the wind is relentless as we pass through Ulan, the smallest town in NSW, I notice it has its own second hand car yard, Geary’s, is that a turtle crossing the road. We take a different route through Gulgong.

I start to notice that as we approach the livestock in the paddocks turn to look at us while the birds tend to take off and fly away from us. Could it be the ’roo whistles that George has attached to his bike?

We stop in Wellington for afternoon tea, we sit on the curb and drink some bottled water, the tea and coffee has run out.

Molong for petrol 259 Klms – as I come out of the shop a man who looks like he is a member of an outlaw bike gang yells out “Nice bike”, is he having a go at me? He looks friendly enough so I stroll over to talk to him. He has two Guzzis, a Mk 3 Le Mans with 400,000 klms on the clock and a Cali III. He bought the Cali from a friend who injured himself at work, it only had 2,000 Klm on it. He’s never ridden the Le Mans since. At the moment the Le Mans sits in the shed, he’s ridden it all over Australia and he’s never going to sell it. He tells me that his 14 year old son has claimed it for himself for when he is old enough to ride, he seems proud about that. We bid farewell and I leave him still filling his 4WD.

We push on to Cowra for an early dinner and to let the dusk fade. The rest of the trip will be in the dark. As we head off my low beam ‘blows’ so I switch to high beam, not that the on-coming traffic seems to notice. Riding is not much fun now more just a way of getting home as quickly and safely as possible. We stop briefly in Boroowa to rest the bum, clean the visors and decide the last petrol stop. It’s going to be Yass. We could push on to Canberra without a refill but that would put George on reserve so there is no point taking the chance. We stop at Yass for petrol at 231 Klms and then get straight back on for the final leg.

I pull into my garage at 8:00 pm with 139 Klms on the clock. I quickly unpack and fall into bed at 9:00 pm. Must start work early tomorrow.

Highlights:
We saw few police, those we did ignored us even at 30kph above the posted limit, catching fish in foreign waters, not meeting any nocturnal animals, new twisties, turtles, no dramas, most of all the people we met.

Lessons learned:
Tea on the road saves time, fruit and nut mix plus energy bars give you options, I need more battery power for music, bottled water is a must, frequent breaks avoid stress injuries, maybe roo whistles do work,

Music courtesy of iPod®, Earmold® and; bettemidlerbobdylancarolekingthecarpentersthecommitmentsdianekralldirestraitseltonjohnharrymanxjackjohnsoncrowde dhousekdlangmadelainepeyrouxmarkknoppflermotelsnorahjonespatsyclinepaulkellyredgumjimmybarnessamcookesantanast eelydansupertramp

Back on the road again.

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Back on the road again.